


In Your Heart

by InquisitorAttano



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anger, Arranged Marriage, Complicated Relationships, Daddy Kink, Dom!Cullen, DomAlistair, DomCullen, F/M, Feels, Hurt, Like chapter two smut, Marriage Proposal, Romance, Sibling Rivalry, Smut, There will be LOTS of smut, cullen makes a great daddy ;), family troubles, mild violence, older Cullen younger Trevelyan, yes I went there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 15:19:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 55,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8332588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquisitorAttano/pseuds/InquisitorAttano
Summary: One (somewhat) arranged marriage. Two (somewhat) unwilling participants. 
Elizabeth Trevelyan, youngest child of the Trevelyan family and sister to the most powerful man in Thedas who happens to go by the moniker of Inquisitor, is shoved into a marriage proposal with arguably the second most powerful man in Thedas - the Commander of the Inquisition forces. Not willing to give up her single life, Elizabeth is hell bent on making the Commander dispise her to the point where sheer disgust would coil in the pit of his stomach at the mere thought of her.





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> My mind has been spinning with ideas again. Here we go!
> 
> In this version, the eldest Trevelyan child is sent to the Conclave. Inquisitor Maxwell Trevelyan, overprotective brother number one, is 27. Overprotective brother number two, Michael Trevelyan, is 24. And our beloved belle of the ball, Elizabeth Trevelyan, is 19. 
> 
> Our favorite Commander has reached the seasoned age of 31...quite the delicious and sinful age difference, no?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Cullen meets _Lady_ Trevelyan.

There was always something to be done.

When rifts all across Thedas were not being closed, time was spent discussing possible strategies to thwart the enemy. When discussions were not being held around the war table, there was sure to be a companion or two with personal needs that required attention. When said companions were sated, time was allotted for the Reaver specialization training.

And when he wasn’t training, the Inquisitor was entertaining his noble family. Mainly, his obnoxious and intolerable mother. Perhaps the worst of all his duties.

Maxwell sighed as images of his beloved but ultimately underhanded mother flooded his mind. She was conniving, deceitful, and would do anything to get her way. She would go so far as to trade her own children for a grasp at power and wealth. And that what exactly what she was doing, Maxwell supposed. But she was still the woman that gave birth to him and he could not bring himself to hate her.

“That will be all.” He dismissed his council with a curt tone, not realizing that thoughts of his mother had soured his already poor mood. With a nod, the three advisors gathered their things and proceeded towards the door. Maxwell swallowed the knot in his throat and mustered all the willpower he had to call back the one person he needed to speak to. “A moment, if you will, Commander.”

At the mention of his title, Cullen glanced back at the dark-haired leader and then quickly to his two companions. They exchanged equally quizzical looks before the other two left the room. Cullen now turned to face the Inquisitor with his full attention, assuming his typical stance. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

“I, uh...I…” The dark haired man stammered. His crystal blue eyes scanned the room, deliberately avoiding the Commander. How was he supposed to ask a man of Cullen’s status for such a request? Whether Cullen complied with the request or not was not an issue for Maxwell. In fact, he hoped the Commander would refuse the moment the favor slipped past his lips. The issue was in swallowing his pride and asking another man to entertain the power hungry ideas and theatrics of his mother. 

Absentmindedly, Maxwell shoved one hand into the front pocket of his breeches and the sudden impact with the letter his mother had sent boiled his blood anew. That woman had no shame. No guilt. No thoughts save gaining authority and gold. 

But it was just for two weeks, he told himself.

“I have a favor to ask of you, Comman- no, Cullen. I ask this not as your Inquisitor or Herald, but as a friend.”

The fair haired man quirked an eyebrow at the strange preamble. The Inquisitor had never asked for anything from him; not as his leader or otherwise. This was something important and Cullen readied himself for what this favor could possibly entail. 

His mind raced with possibilities: clearing out a dangerous bandit camp in the Emerald Graves, taking down a Ventori stronghold in the Western Approach, or worse yet, attending another damn ball. “Anything, In- Maxwell.” He caught himself quickly at the use of titles. This was, after all, a favor from a friend to a friend. 

An unsteady hand moved to the back of the Inquisitors neck and he stroked the skin to calm his nerves. He chewed his bottom lip between white pearls as he debated how to unbox his favor. “My family is on their way to Skyhold. I received a letter from my mother earlier this week informing me of their visit.” Maxwell trailed and Cullen took the que. 

“That’s great! I am glad they are finally coming around. I’m sure everyone, myself included, is eager to meet them.” Cullen offered him a smile, but it only served to further lessen Maxwell’s spirits. When he noticed the gloom expression on the dark haired man’s face, Cullen’s own grew somber. Something was wrong. 

“Yeah, say that after you have met my mother.” Maxwell began to pace back and forth around the war table, his right hand clutching the white parchment that he had shoved into his pocket. “I am really sorry to have to ask this of you. It isn’t fair.” He suddenly stopped and turned to face the other man with a serious expression. “Please know that you can decline this request.

Cullen merely nodded, allowing the other man to continue.

With a deep breath, Maxwell began, “My mother has proposed a marriage between my younger sister Elizabeth and the Commander of the Inquisition: you.”

Cullen stood stoically still, the words still processing in his head but not quite registering. 

“Of course,” the Inquisitor continued, “this is just my mother’s grasp at more power. She figures with a son who is regarded as the Inquisitor and unofficial leader of Thedas **and** a daughter married to the second in command of the Inquisition, she could stand to gain much in regards to wealth and authority. I know my sister, Cullen. This is not of her own doing. She would never give up her freedom to marry and be tied down. This has my mother’s fingerprints all over it.”

Maxwell sighed and ran a hand through his black locks. “You don’t have to agree to it, but if you could entertain my mother for the next two weeks I would be in your debt. Court my sister while they are here and when they leave I will write my mother a letter stating that you politely decline the offer of marriage. Just for two weeks…”

Just two weeks, Cullen thought to himself. What could be the harm in that?

\---

“This is absurd!” huffed the fair-skinned, dark-haired Free Marcher. “How dare you use me for your schemes, _mother_?” She emphasized the word, spitting it with venom as if to say a real mother would never do this to her child. “Do you not care about my happiness? Or how I would feel?”

“Hush,” hissed the elder Trevelyan lady as the carriage shook along a rocky path. “I am doing this _precisely_ for your own happiness. This is a man’s world, darling, with no regard for women. Even the Empress was replaced by a _man_. This world was not created for us, but we can make it ours.” Dark green eyes scanned the younger woman with a gentle smile. “I am ensuring your success. With the Inquisitor as your brother and his Commander as your husband, you will be the most powerful woman in all of Thedas, revered and praised by every living soul. Do you not see that this is for you, darling?” 

Lady Trevelyan reached out for her daughter's cheek, her preserved but aged hand seeking the smooth, youthful skin of her only daughter. But the contact was cut short as the younger Lady Trevelyan swatted her mother’s hand way. “Don't touch me,” she spat.

The elder woman retracted her hand with a sigh. “Very well. You are still my daughter and you will do as I say, regardless of your feelings on the matter. Be sure to look presentable and act like a refined Lady in front of everyone, especially the Commander. Do I make myself clear?”

Elizabeth was not keen on replying her mother. Instead, she leaned her head against the window of the carriage and stared out into the greenery that surrounded them. There was nothing for miles save trees and bushes. She wondered if anyone lived out here, free from the constraints that city life contained. She wondered if some poor dweller of the forest was watching the dark navy horse-drawn carriage with gold accents as it whizzed by, sticking out like a sore thumb in between the beauty of nature. She wondered if that person looked on with longing, wishing to be the passenger of such a fine carriage.

She would gladly change places with them.

They would be arriving in Skyhold in less than three hours. She was sure her brother had already broken the news to the Commander by now and she could imagine the perverse thoughts that ran through the older man’s mind at the prospect of marrying a woman twelve years younger than him. She shuddered at the thought.

There was only one thing to do: disgust the dirty, old Commander to the point where the mere sight of her would churn his stomach. He would refuse her hand in marriage and she would make doubly sure of it. 

\---

Cullen was training with his soldiers when the sound of a horn filled the air, announcing the arrival of visitors. The Trevelyan family was here, he thought to himself with a sigh. 

“Alright, that's enough for today,” he signaled for the recruits to disperse as he told them to take the rest of the day off. “I want you all back here before sunrise tomorrow morning, got that?”

They all answered in unison with a chant of “yes sir” before going their separate ways - different paths that led to the same destination: the tavern.

Cullen watched them until his eyes finally found the Inquisitor descending the stone stairs down to the main gates. “Good morning, Inquisitor,” offered the Commander. 

“Good morning, Commander,” replied the Inquisitor with much more enthusiasm. “I trust things are going well with the new recruits?” 

They made small talk as the iron gates of Skyhold were lifted for the impending visitors and they briefly discussed troop movement in the Western Approach as they waited for said visitors. 

“This lot seems much more adept than the last bunch that joined. I estimate that we can send them to reinforce the Griffon Wing Keep in two weeks time.”

“Excellent,” remarked the dark haired leader, “I am sure our soldiers will be grateful for the aid.”

The Commander nodded but spoke no more as a rather lavish carriage led by four beautiful Red Harts crossed the threshold. The driver pulled on the reins to halt the majestic beasts, stopping just six feet shy of the Inquisitor and the Commander. 

“Finally,” he heard the other man let out an exasperated sigh as the carriage came to a complete halt. The tall, dark haired man ventured towards the door, hand extended in mid-air with eagerness to see his family. Before he could reach it, the door abruptly swung open and the velvet fabric of a woman’s gown could be seen as it rustled around its owner’s milky, smooth legs. 

The woman in question hiked up the purple fabric almost mid-thigh as she proceeded to step out of the carriage, no doubt a display for any male onlookers. The Inquisitor looked uncomfortable as he approached the woman, and Cullen followed suit but kept a safe distance. 

“Elizabeth!” greeted a cheery Inquisitor as he pulled his sister into a tight embrace once both her feet were on solid ground. “ _What the hell do you think you are doing? Put your skirt down!_ ” he hissed in her ear, only audible enough for the recipient and those in close proximity to the carriage - which included the Commander. 

The fair-skinned woman smiled gingerly at her sibling, bearing blinding white teeth in the process. It must have been a family trait, Cullen assumed, since the Inquisitor had a smile that made even the cold abyss known as Cassandra’s heart melt.

“Forgive my manners, dearest brother.” Her smile turned coy and her sapphire eyes twinkled with mischief. There was no doubt that she had done it on purpose. 

Another figure moved behind them and as his mother’s face came into view, Maxwell stepped forward and offered his hand to help her down. “Mother,” he greeted and exchanged a quick peck on either cheek. “I am so glad you could come.”

“Yes, yes,” she waved the driver off with orders to take the horses to the stable and bring the luggage to her room. “I hope you received my letter.”

“Of course,” he cleared his throat and stepped to the side, revealing the man in question. “Mother, sister,” he began, “this is Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, Commander of the Inquisition forces.” 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Trevelyan.” Cullen bent at the waist in a formal bow, his right gloved hand placed over his heart. 

“Oh, please,” the elder Trevelyan woman stifled a light giggle, “no need to be so formal, Cullen. You may call me Eleanor.” She crossed over to him in two quick strides and placed white velveteen covered hands around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace. “As my future son-in-law, it's only fitting that we are on a first name basis.”

Though Cullen did his best to hide any discomfort at the forward display of the elder noble lady, the two Trevelyan siblings couldn't help but notice the slight grimace he gave at the mention of family ties. 

Maxwell, being the only person who knew that this was all an act to sate his mother for two weeks, stepped in. “Mother, let the man breathe,” he feigned a chuckle but his nerves betrayed him. He was a terrible actor.

“Nonsense,” retorted Eleanor with a snort, “he seems _quite capable_ of handling a tight squeeze from his mother-in-law.” As if the title set off a lightbulb in her head, the elder woman stepped aside and motioned for her daughter to come closer. “Elizabeth, don't be shy. Introduce yourself properly.”

Elizabeth, who had been watching the one sided groping scene, was not in the mood for her mother’s antics. Instead, she placed one hand gingerly on top of her corset laced abdomen and looked over to her brother, completely ignoring her mother and the rather handsome Commander. “Brother, where are your outhouses? I had sweet bean pie for lunch and it’s doing quite a number on my stomach.”

Eleanor gasped at the audacity and ill manners of her daughter, Maxwell’s mouth hung agape and Cullen did all he could not to snicker. Who is this woman, he thought to himself with intrigue. He had expected a prim and pompous noble Lady who thought the whole world should bow at her feet solely due to her status in birth. Yet here she was, as un-ladylike as it could get.

“Elizabeth!” Eleanor fumed. “Where are your manners, child?!”

“What?” she countered innocently. “Everyone does it. There's nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Maxwell could not bring himself to step in between the two, still in a state of shock from his sister’s uncharacteristically rude behavior. Cullen, noticing this, cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention. 

“If you will, Lady Trevelyan, I will take you. Inquisitor, “ he turned to face the almost comatose man, “you can show Lady Eleanor to her chambers.” 

Maxwell nodded and Eleanor huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, mumbling something along the lines of “insolent, little child.” They departed as Eleanor laced her arm around her son's and began to shower him with praises and affection. “My dearest boy,” she began while still in earshot of the two they had left behind, “I have missed you so much. Tell me, are you eating well? How are they treating you?”

To his right, the Commander heard the young woman groan. “Ugh,” she spat with venom before walking off in the opposite direction. 

“My Lady,” cautioned Cullen, “the latrines are this way.” He pointed behind him as he spoke, but the dark-haired woman paid him no mind as she continued along her way towards the stalls. “Or you could take a shit with the horses, if you like,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Noticing that he was following her footsteps, Elizabeth turned to look at him over her shoulder with piercing blue eyes. “I don't need you to follow me like some lost puppy, Commander. I can find my way around well enough.”

She hadn't expected him to give up so easily. “Very well,” he acknowledged her request with a slight bow of his head before turning on his heel and proceeding up to his study. He wasn't keen on babysitting her anyways.


	2. All Who Wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW (beginning only)  
> Cullen gets some.  
> Elizabeth gets lost.  
> A family feud breaks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild violence, but please do not read if that makes you uncomfortable.
> 
> Also, excuse any errors. Completely written on my phone - with autocorrect assuming it knows what I meant to write.

The sun was beginning to set and darkness was overtaking Skyhold, save for the candles and lanterns that illuminated walkways. Cullen was busy in his study, looking into the extent of Samson’s involvement with Corypheus, when a messenger came knocking at his door. 

“Commander.”

He knew that voice. That delectable, sweet lullaby.

“Come in,” he replied with a steady tone, though her visit had stirred his mind and sent his heart racing with unhinged lust. It had been two weeks since he saw her last, all courtesy of the Nightingale for sending her out on a long mission to assassinate some poor, noble sod. 

The door creaked open slowly and her auburn hair was the first to meet his intense golden gaze. Her heaving, barely covered chest was next, rising and falling with each anxious breath she took. 

“Is it safe?” She spoke quietly as the rest of her body came into view. She was wearing a black, off the shoulder silk slip-on that clung to every delicious curve of her body. Her waist was tight and small, and his eyes wandered down to her full hips with appreciation. There was just enough black silk to cover her plump back, but her delectable thighs were open to his hungry gaze. He licked his lips at the thought of being between her sun-kissed legs.

“Yes,” his voice was low and hoarse, void of any control at the sight of her. Red locks swayed across her face as she turned to close the door quietly before tip-toeing her way over to his desk. He stood tall and proud in his armor as she delicately traced the workmanship of his chestpiece with a nimble finger. 

“I've missed you, _Commander_.”

The revelation earned her a tight grab on her wrist, halting her exploration as she found herself twisted and turned under his strong hold. Before the young scout could register what was going on, she found herself pressed against the mahogany wood of the Commander's desk. She felt the thickness of him on her ass cheek as he leaned down to her ear, pressing her breasts further into the unforgiving wood. “Is that so, _little Scout_?”

Though he had made sure she understood exactly what this little fling of theirs was, the young Scout could not help but hope that one day he would reciprocate her feelings. That one day he would tell her how much he missed her. In the meantime, she was content being there for his sexual release. 

She wasn't sure when he had taken it off, but out of the corner of her eye Linnea could see the Commander’s glove hit the wall and fall down limply. She gasped as she felt his warm hand on the inner part of her thigh, snaking under her flimsy garment and up to her throbbing core.

“You came prepared,” he whispered huskily in her ear when he realized that she was not wearing any smalls. Without hesitation or warning, Cullen plunged two thick fingers deep into her and the sudden intrusion sent a cry of pain out of the young woman. With his free hand he yanked her head back by auburn curls. 

“Best be quiet, sweetheart.” His command was nothing short of a growl, fierce and demanding. The last thing he needed was to get caught fucking this woman - especially with _them_ here. 

Linnea whimpered underneath him as she brought a hand up to cover her mouth and muffle her screams of ecstasy. “Good girl,” he purred in her ear, his fingers picking up pace. He let her head fall back and busied himself with releasing his bulging cock out of its confines. 

Any other day he would have taken his time, made sure she came at least three times before he took his pleasure from her. But tonight time was something he was short on. The Trevelyan family was here and, completely in character with the Ambassador, a feast was being held in the main hall to celebrate. He would have skipped it, were it not for the pleading look of his trusted friend and companion; the Inquisitor. 

“I'll make this quick,” he promised, his voice hoarse and strained as he finally freed himself. “Not a single sound. Understood?”

She nodded, breathing heavily through her nose while her hand remained on her mouth. A moment later, his fingers moved to her clit only to be replaced by his massive girth. She bit down on her hand at the sudden, excruciating intrusion. With her free hand she clung to the edge of the worn table, hoping and praying that this feeling of fullness would last forever. 

Her whimpers fueled him. Her miserable attempts at keeping quiet only turned him on even more. He pounded her mercilessly, the desk shaking with the sheer force of his thrusts. His gloved hand moved to her waist to steady her but it was little help. He was a beast, a man deprived of sexual gratification and he would see himself satisfied tonight. 

She mewled underneath him, her legs shaking at the pure pleasure that coursed through her. His thick digit kept circling her sensitive bud, spurring her on to a fast orgasm. “Commander,” the red-haired beauty pleaded, removing her hand after she was sure she could control herself. “Please..”

“Please, what?” He slowed down his pace, but his thrusts became deeper, more powerful with each word he spoke. “You think you deserve to come?”

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder at him, green eyes half-lidded from desire to come undone. His eyes were wild, a frenzied pool of amber threatening to devour her whole. “Please, Cullen,” she begged in that honey voice of hers, “let me come. Let me come all over your cock, Commander.”

A growl rumbled through his chest at her enticing words as steady, deep thrusts were replaced by furious pounding once again. The force caused her to grind against the wooden table, the friction against her swollen breasts a welcomed pleasure. She cried out again but quickly replaced her hand, remembering her orders. 

\---

Elizabeth had wandered the grounds of Skyhold for almost two hours. She was half surprised that no one had come looking for her _and_ half furious that no one had come looking for her. Despite its moderate size, it turned out that Skyhold was very easy to get lost in - and somehow no one thought that her absence was telling of said lost-ness.

She had found the Skyhold gardens, where many herbs were being grown both for consumption and for healing purposes. From there she wandered through many of the doors, finding dead-end rooms on most occasions (although she did take the time to offer a prayer in one of the rooms that housed a statue of Andraste). 

She wasn't sure where she went from there but after some turns, a flight of stairs or two, and some more turns, she found herself on the ramparts. At each corner, a tall tower had been erected. Not knowing what those had been for, she knocked on the first few she came across and stood there like an idiot waiting for someone to grant her verbal access. When no such welcome was offered, she proceeded to enter the towers anyways - only to find them all empty.

Needless to say, she had long given up on the notion of knocking before entering seeing as every single damn tower was just there for decoration. 

“Bloody void,” she cursed with furious strides, “how dare that little dog run off and let me wander on my own?! Does he not know I could get lost? What a way to treat his future bride!” She was arguing with herself, but luckily there was no one around to catch a glimpse of her crazy side. Or rather, if someone _had been_ around she wouldn't have to act so crazy. But there was not a single soul in sight. “Probably all stuffing their faces at the banquet,” she grumbled. 

Her tantrum only served to further fuel her agitated state and the next door she came across received the bulk of her frustration. She ripped it open and had she been any stronger she was sure she would have unhinged it. But she didn't care.

“The fucking audacity of that little do - _oh._ ” She stopped her insult the second her eyes made contact with his.

They were enchanting, there was no denying that. Beautiful amber rimmed with chocolate brown, obstructed by dark lashes. For a moment, Elizabeth forgot how to breathe.

“Lady Trevelyan,” he greeted as he slipped on one of his gloves. “Are you lost?” The satisfied smirk on his face was enough to bring her back to her senses. Of course he would find amusement in her predicament. 

“No,” she snapped, turning her head to the side so as to avoid any further eye contact with him. She crossed the room quickly to the other side, still playing a game of “guess” as to the direction of the main hall. Before she could take hold of the handle and open her lucky door, she felt a tug on her left arm. Smooth leather made contact with her exposed porcelain skin, but the heat that radiated through the fabric was what caught her off guard.

Stifling her gasp, she turned to look over at the Commander with defiance. “Unhand me, you- you lecherous, old man!” Though her insult was an afterthought, she stood proudly by it. Her sapphire eyes dilated with burning anger and Cullen found himself amused by her remark. 

“Lecherous old man, huh?” He smiled warmly at her and let go of his hold on her. “I've been called a lot of things in my life, but I think that's a first.” A deep, hearty chuckle resonated through the room as the words sunk in. She was a funny one.

He spoke, once his laughter subsided, “The main hall is this way, _princess_.” The title was not meant as a crown to make her feel beautiful or special, but rather spat like an insult as if he was looking down upon her. “If you'll follow me,” he held out his arm for her, despite the unfavorable taste his tone had left in her mouth. 

She looked down at his arm, clothed in intricate waves of fabric and steel, and _so_ massive in size. Her eyes lingered on the parts where no armor obstructed her view of his muscles, tracing every curve and bulge with appreciation. He may have been old, but clearly still in good physique. 

Snapping out of her thoughts with a slight jerk, she quickly remembered that he was still waiting for her to link her arm around his so that they could stride into the main hall like the perfect couple. And she would have followed along with that plan had it not been for that disgusting, infuriating, irritating but oh-so-irresistible smirk of his. 

_He had caught her staring._

With a huff, she brushed past him and proceeded towards the door directly opposite his desk, seeing as it was the only other way to go. She refused to play along with this little game of his and she would make sure that “yes” was the furthest word from his mouth in regards to her mother’s proposal of marriage. 

\---

Cullen followed her in stride with an amused look. The way she walked with fuming fast steps while her shoulders swayed back and fro in a steady rhythm of anger.

So much rage in such a small body, he thought to himself. She wasn’t without some curves, with the way her corset sucked in tightly at her waist and bloomed out towards what Cullen assumed to be petite hips. She was not his type. No, Cullen needed something to grab, something to hold on to while he mercilessly pounded-

“Curly!” 

He blinked as he looked around the room. When had they arrived in the main hall? He glanced to his side, finding a slightly tipsy dwarf with pen and parchment in hand - never a good combination. 

“You finally decided to join us!” Varric snickered. “And waltzing in with the Inquisitor’s sister no less. The scandal!”

Beside him, sitting on the table as opposed to a chair like normal people, was Sera. She swung her feet merrily to the tune while one hand held a glass, the contents threatening to spill any moment. “Ay, what were you two up to, eh? Knocking the good ole boots together?” she snorted.

“You two are drunk,” observed Cullen with annoyance. If there was one thing he disliked more than soirées, it was the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle. His _drunk_ Inner Circle. They were too rowdy. Some too stuck up for their own good and others more of a nuisance than they were a help. Not to mention the childish pranks…

In any case, Cullen wondered why the Inquisitor bothered to keep half of them around.

“Don't be a spoilsport, Curly. Come, have a few rounds with us.” 

Cullen sighed. “Maybe later, “ he countered when his eyes landed on the Trevelyans sitting far off at the grand table. “I have some nobles to cater to,” he mumbled before walking towards his doom.

“Ah, there he is!” It was Eleanor who spotted him first and she gestured to an empty seat right across from her. “Come, son, sit right here.”

 _Son_.

The word made him cringe but he gave it his best attempt to not show. This was the Inquisitor’s mother after all and he would show her respect, if only for two weeks. As he took his seat next to the Inquisitor, Cullen couldn't help but notice the pink tint on Elizabeth’s face. She had taken a seat next to her mother, her fair face flushed and radiating in the candlelight. She almost looked angelic..

“I hear you attended the ball at the Winter Palace, Cullen. Such a shame about the Empress.” Eleanor’s voice pulled his attention from the younger Trevelyan and he cleared his throat.

“Yes, it was quite an unfortunate circumstance.” He knew the Empress could have been saved, but many on the outside were not privy to that intel. It was best to let the public be oblivious as to how much the Inquisition had truly known that night. 

“But I hear you are quite the dancer! The ladies could hardly stop talking about you.” Eleanor’s tone quickly changed from somber to cheery. Her hand delicately wrapped around her wine filled glass, bringing it to her red lips while her eyes locked with his. “I simply must see you dance,” she stated once she downed the red liquid.

“Oh, I-” Cullen began to protest, but his friend sprang to his aid.

“Commander Cullen has had a busy day. No doubt he wishes to dine and retire to his bed as soon as possible. Let's save the dancing for another night, hm?” Maxwell matched his mother’s fierce gaze, but it did not deter the older woman.

“Nonsense,” she made a dismissive gesture with her hand, “he is in the prime stages of his youth. Full of energy and stamina. There will be time enough to relax and sleep when he is older. Tonight, we shall celebrate!” 

Cullen remained silent, not sure of how to decline without sounding rude. Elizabeth stared intently at her brother, giving him the chance to say something before she let her thoughts be known.

“Mother, really-”

“It's alright, Inquisitor.” It had taken everything in him to speak those words, but the thought that this would only last two weeks made the decision easier. Two weeks and then she would be gone. What was the harm in one dance?

Maxwell looked over at his advisor with concern, but Cullen brushed it off and stood from his seat. He held out his hand to Eleanor, “My Lady.”

Eleanor chuckled sweetly, placing her delicate hand over her mouth. “Oh, my sweet boy. I said I must _see_ you dance.” She looked over at her daughter, who had been staring daggers into the Inquisitor during this exchange. “Elizabeth, sweetheart, get up and dance with your betrothed.”

At the mention of her name, Elizabeth's head snapped to her mother only to notice that her eyes were transfixed on something else. She followed her mother's line of sight, until her deep sapphire eyes locked onto pools of molten amber. Her name rolled off his tongue like poisoned honey as he asked for a dance, enticing and sweet but laced with a life she did not want. If only they had not been forced into this marriage. If only they could have met, years later when she had accomplished all her dreams. If only, Elizabeth wondered. How different might her feelings towards this handsome man have been?

But for the present, she despised him. “Can’t you see I'm busy eating?” As if to prove her point, the petite woman grabbed some roasted ram meat from nearby, sinking her teeth into the tender meat right off the bone. 

“Elizabeth Marie Trevelyan!” fumed a furious Eleanor. She kept her voice barely above a whisper so as not to alert the rest of the table, but Cullen’s proximity allowed him to hear every word. “If you do not start behaving like a proper lady I will speak to your father about that little college in Orlais and you will never see a single sovereign. Do I make myself clear?”

Cullen wasn't sure what that meant, but it must have been something important for the young woman. The next instant, Elizabeth took her cream colored napkin, wiped her hands clean, and stood up to receive Cullen’s hand. Without another word or glance, she began to walk towards the makeshift dance floor, practically tugging a somewhat dazed Cullen. 

“Mother, you're too persistent,” scolded Maxwell once the two were out of earshot. “If Elizabeth’s poor manners don't scare him off, your nagging will.”

Not wanting to discuss the matter further, Eleanor changed the subject while keeping her eyes on the couple. She watched them dance with keen eyes as she spoke to her eldest son. “What about you? Has anyone here caught your eye?”

Maxwell swallowed the chunk of ram meat he was chewing on, almost choking on it. What an ending to Varric’s book that would have been. _The Inquisitor was a brave and fierce warrior who faced down many enemies, but in the end his life was cut short by a tender, juicy ram steak._ He shuddered at the thought.

“Ah, no. Not yet.” It was a lie, but Cassandra’s threat replayed in his mind. _I am not ready to face your mother or father yet, Maxwell. Don't you dare tell them about us or I will kill you._ “Don't worry mother, you'll be the first to know about my lucky lady.”

\---

“Ow,” Cullen grimaced. “You're doing that on purpose.” He had let the first three times slide, but she had stepped on his foot yet again and he was sure she was aiming to hurt him.

“What ever do you mean, Commander?” She batted her lashes innocently before he felt the weight of her heel on his foot again. 

“ _That._ ” He took hold of her waist, pulling her tightly against his torso. His other hand held hers as the danced to a slow waltz. “I believe you owe me an apology, my Lady.” His voice was a breathy whisper at her ear and it peppered goosebumps all over her fair skin.

“I-I..” she stammered, unable to think with her body so snugly against his. He was warm. Solid rock of muscle, yet he held her gently. 

Cullen took the lead as the skirt of her full dress fluttered around their feet. “What’s the matter, princess. Cat got your tongue?”

The nerve, she thought to herself. One second he was normal and somewhat bearable, and the next he was a complete ass. Oh, how she wished to slap that smirk off his face. But she knew her mother was watching and the last thing she needed was to cause a scene in front of everyone. 

“Go to hell.” 

“What an intelligent response.” He spun her in a circle once before pulling her back flush against him. “And completely expected of someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Her voice was louder now, but luckily the music drowned her out to any eavesdroppers. “You know nothing about me, _Commander._ And if it were up to me you would never know anything about me.”

He chuckled deeply, unable to relate to her sense of helplessness. “Is your life not in your own hands? If you do not wish to be married to me, then run away. Go off and live somewhere. Earn an honest living and be free of all this. Or is the life of a poor beggar not up to your standards, _princess._.”

In the blink of an eye, in a split second, the entire room went quiet. The music ceased. Everyone looked towards them, mouths dropped in awe. 

Elizabeth pulled her hand back, her face refusing to betray the sting she was feeling. She wasn't sure how hard she slapped him, but the pain she received from his steel jaw seemed to hurt her more than she had hurt him. 

Cullen pulled away from her and brought his gloved hand up to his cheek, using the cool leather to taper off some of the sting. She had quite the heavy hand for such a small thing. 

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth could see her brother and mother. Her mother’s face had lost all color and her brother’s reaction was not much better. He had risen from his chair, but had not moved from where he stood. Shock was soon replaced by anger and Elizabeth knew she would receive a lecture about this.

“Enjoy the rest of your fucking evening, Commander.” She spat the words, hoping that every word conveyed the hatred she felt. She turned on her heel without wasting another moment. She didn't want to be stared at any longer.

She was all alone in this world. Tears began to form at the realization that she was truly all alone. Her mother had forced her into this. Her brother, ever the loyal and striving-to-please son, was playing along with it. And the man she was being forced to marry was mocking her. 

Elizabeth wasn't sure where she was going. Her vision had blurred and she chose the safety of the first door she came to. Her body shook with quiet sobs as she walked on, hoping that she would wake up and find that this was all some cruel figment of her imagination.

“Elizabeth!”

She did not turn around at the sound of her voice. Instead she kept walking. Wandering. Hoping.

“Elizabeth!” 

This time the voice was closer and she vaguely felt a tug at her wrist. But she did not stop. She kept pulling away, but finally her captor had had enough. With brute force, the man pulled her back and swung her body around to meet him.

Familiar blue eyes stared back at her. She loved those eyes. They had always comforted her when she was in pain. Always encouraged her when she was unsure of herself. 

But tonight, those familiar eyes were full of something she had never seen in them: _rage._

“Elizabeth, what the hell do you think you're doing?!”

She tugged on his hold, hoping to break free. “Let me go, Maxwell.” Tears began to fall freely from her eyes now and it was all she could take. “I hate you! I hate you! How could you let her do this!?”

He loosened his hold and she was able to slip her wrist out. “Elizabeth, please-”

“No! I don't want to hear it!” She shook her head furiously as if to drown out that once beautiful voice that now sounded like a screech. “How could you? Michael would never let her do this!”

“And where is Michael now, Elizabeth? Where is he? Huh?” The mention of his younger brother had set something off in him. A deep, buried fury had been awakened. “He left like the coward that he is!”

“He left because of that bitch you call a mother!”

The words left her mouth effortlessly and the next second she felt her body falling back. The impact of his fist sent her falling as she clutched her jaw in some vain attempt to ease the piercing pain. 

He hovered above her, panting heavily. He had not meant to hit her. Her words triggered him. 

She had not meant to say what she had. His words triggered her. 

Silence filled the room as both siblings raked their thoughts in hopes of understanding just how had they let it go this far. What went wrong? This was supposed to be an easy two weeks. Yet it was only the first day and already they had crossed lines that should have never been crossed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who thought that our slick Commader would get caught? ;) 
> 
> Thank you for all the love in the last chapter! It definitely brightened up my day. Hope you can stick around on this crazy joyride my mind is on.


	3. Safe Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor is a bitch.  
> Elizabeth finds temporary happiness.  
> Cullen ruins it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, written mostly on my genius iPhone so please excuse any mistakes.

>   
>  _Dearest Michael,_
> 
> _I hope that my last letter has found you well. I have not heard from you in a few months, and your silence worries me. I pray that you are safe, dear brother._
> 
> _So much has happened since I wrote you last. We have arrived at Skyhold and it's just as I suspected. Maxwell intends to allow this marriage to take place._
> 
> _I don't know what to do. I feel so alone. I'm scared, Michael. I don't want to marry this man. I don't want to marry someone I don't love._
> 
> _I want to run away. Far from here, far from this wretched family. Oh, how I wish I had gone with you the day you left, Michael. But like the naive child that I was, I stayed behind. If only I could go back to that day..._
> 
> _Maxwell and I had a fight last night. It seems that you are still a sore subject after all these years. We exchanged heated words. But you know Maxwell, all bark and no bite. Do not worry, dearest brother, I am safe. Unhappy, but safe._
> 
> _Dawn is breaking, I must go. Please write to me, Michael. Write to me of your journeys. Tell me of the outside world, tell me of all your adventures. It will put my aching heart at ease to know that you are faring better than I, that at least one of us is happy._
> 
> _With all my love,_
> 
> Elizabeth  
> 

With a shaky hand, the young woman set down her quill. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she folded the letter, tucking it away in the safety of her bosom. She would have to find some way to get the letter to its recipient, some messenger that could be bribed into secretly delivering it to her brother. 

“Easier said than done,” she answered her own thoughts. 

\---

“Elizabeth! What has happened to your face?” The moment Eleanor laid eyes on her daughter, shock and worry took hold of her. For a moment, Elizabeth thought her mother was actually concerned about her. But it was a fleeting moment. She knew her mother better than that. “What will the Commander think when he sees your beautiful face marred with such a hideous bruise? This will not do.”

Of course that was her concern.

Eleanor snapped her fingers to one of the maids she had been given for the duration of her stay, although the Ambassador preferred to refer to them as “helpers.” 

“Come, we must find a way to cover this.” She took hold of her daughter’s hand and began to lead her back to her room, the helper close at heel. No other word was spoken as Elizabeth let herself be dragged along. She didn't have it in her to argue.

She had never been struck before. Disciplined and lectured, sure, but neither her father or mother - as vile of a woman she was - never laid a hand on her. Her brothers had always been her protectors, going so far as to take the blame for any mischief she caused when they were little. 

But that all changed the night before. 

“You really should pay more attention to what you are doing. You can't keep being careless. Maker willing, you will be married soon. What would people think if they saw you like this when you're married, hmm? It would paint Cullen in an unfavorable light.” Eleanor motioned for Elizabeth to take a seat at the vanity as she went to rummage through her luggage.

“Sorry,” replied the younger Trevelyan almost robotically. “I misstepped and fell down the stairs last night. It was dark.” She was there physically, but her mind wandered elsewhere. Her eyes, dim and almost lifeless, stared back at her from the mirror. 

Eleanor tsked as she handed the helper a vial of cream colored liquid. “Put this on her and cover that disgusting mark.”

Elizabeth studied the bruise with little interest. Though it still throbbed mildly with pain, it looked much worse than it felt. Almost the entire left side of her jaw was covered in a deep shade of blue and purple, about the length of Maxwell’s fist. The swelling had gone down considerably, but it was still noticeable. 

She watched as the blonde haired Elf approached her, her slender finger dipping into the vial. “If I may, my Lady.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“And we must find you something more suitable to wear. You're here to catch the Commander attention, not charity. You look like a common beggar in that garb.” Eleanor began to sift through her designer dresses from Orlais, lost in her own world. “Something more revealing at the top.”

Elizabeth, who had been sitting quietly while the Elf woman applied concealer to her wound, panicked at her mother’s words. The letter to her brother was still tucked away in her breast band. She couldn't risk getting caught. She couldn't let them know that she was still sending letters to Michael. 

“Mother,” she began timidly, “I can go change in my room. I still have not worn the dress father bought me for my last birthday.”

The older woman clasped her hands together gleefully. “Ah, yes! That one will definitely do the trick!”

\---

Eleanor waited for her daughter in the main hall and her eyes lit up at the sight of her when she returned in a tight, sky blue corset dress and full skirt with lace overlay. Her breasts were bound tightly and pushed upwards, the satin fabric leaving little to the imagination. 

“Absolutely stunning! The Commander will not be able to keep his hands off you.” Eleanor practically squealed, her eyes traveling the detail of the dress before finally resting on her daughter's face. “Just be sure you face him with the good side,” she added, referring to Elizabeth’s ghastly wound. 

“I must meet with your brother for a moment. Wait for me outside, darling.” 

Almost robotically Elizabeth nodded and went about her way, her mother disappearing behind the door that led to Maxwell’s private quarters. No doubt they would be discussing the wedding. The invitations that needed to be sent, the decor, the dress, and, of course, how the Inquisition would foot the bill.

So lost was the young Trevelyan that she scarce noticed her surroundings until she almost tripped over something. She looked around, her eyes following the footsteps she had taken. Her feet had led her from the main door, down the cobble stairs, across the courtyard, and to the small corner behind the tavern. She remembered the building well, having etched every detail into memory during her brother's tour of the fortress, in case she ever needed to drink herself to oblivion. 

Her deep blue eyes caught sight of the object she had stumbled over and the smallest glimpse of a smile slithered onto her slightly swollen lips. A beautifully crafted longbow lay at her feet.

Gingerly, she picked up the wooden weapon, turning it over and examining the craftsmanship. It was beautiful with indicate designs carved into the body. The grip was made of silverite, that much she knew, and it fit her hand like a glove. 

Her eyes continued to glance around and it wasn't long until they lit up at the sight of a quiver filled with arrows that rested against one of the tavern’s barrels. She walked over to it briskly and pulled out one of the arrows, instinctively cradling the deadly shaft against the bow string. To her delight, practice dummies stood erect a short distance to her right. 

She positioned herself behind the safety of the tavern, her back facing the brick building. Her fingers, slowly remembering the countless hours she had spent training, were becoming familiar with the weapon in her hand. She raised her aim and drew the string back, her eyes focused as she projected the path of her shot. _A little further up and a hair to the left._ The arrow whizzed against the wind as she released it, the pointed tip burying itself in the painted bullseye on the dummy's torso. 

She smiled wide, her eyes lighting up. She hadn't lost her touch. She reached for another arrow, so lost in her world of temporary happiness that she did not notice a figure approach. Again she nestled the arrow against the bow string and just like its predecessor, this arrow hit its target with unbridled force. 

“You're quite the marksman.”

She jumped at the sudden, familiar voice. She turned her head to glance at him. He was leaning with one shoulder against the wall of the tavern, arms crossed against the steel chestpiece of his armor. His eyes were downcast, staring at the bow that had fallen to her side. Suddenly, any delight that she had at firing her shots evaporated. 

“Who taught you, if you don't mind my asking.”

She wished he would leave. She wished he would let her enjoy this fleeting moment, this temporary peace she had found, just a little longer. 

“My brother.”

The fair-haired commander snorted, “I've had the misfortune of seeing the Inquisitor struggle with a bow. He couldn't shoot an arrow if his life depended on it.” Maxwell was a warrior through and through. He preferred the heaviness of a great sword and the closeness of his enemies. Something so delicate and requiring of skill and patience as archery was not his forte.

“My _other_ brother. Michael.” She choked back the tears that were welling up in her sapphire eyes, her control on her voice wavering with a slight quiver.

“Maxwell never mentioned a brother,” the older man pondered as he shifted, pushing himself off the wall. 

“He's…” she paused. This man did not deserve to know about her beloved brother. He didn't deserve to know about the only man that could bring a smile to her face. “He moved away a long time ago. It must have simply slipped Maxwell’s mind.”

“Ah,” he offered, almost as if her curt explanation made sense of everything. Her eyes focused back on the dummy, studying the two arrows she had shot. She could hear the heavy _clang_ of his boots as he approached. “I've always wanted to learn, but good teachers are hard to come by. Would you mind showing me?”

Her head snapped back instantly. She studied him, the way his lips curled up into a genuine smile. 

“That is, if you don't mind,” he added. He needed something to bridge the gap, some common ground for them to walk on for the next thirteen days. Throwing insults would only entertain him for so long before exhaustion would set it. He was tired enough as it was, he didn't need to fight with her on a daily basis as well. 

His voice was completely sincere and the toothy smile he offered almost broke her resolve. She sauntered over to him, steady and calculated steps to portray more strength than she had. 

“No,” she responded coldly as she shoved the bow against his chest. His hand flew to it in reflex, grasping it as their fingers brushed against each other when she pulled away. Without another word, she walked passed him.

He wanted to stop her. He wanted to grab her hand and ask her about the terribly covered-up infliction on her face. But his gut knew the answer and if her words confirmed his suspicion, he could not trust himself with what he might do. It was best left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the love! My heart is fluttering ^_^


	4. Jealousy is an Ugly Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt apology.  
> Enter, my favorite Elf.  
> Elizabeth's plan backfires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, completely done on my phone with eagerness.

Much of the remainder of the day was spent walking the grounds of Skyhold. After lunch, Eleanor excused herself as a messenger brought her a letter. According to the Orlesian courier, the matter was urgent. 

Shortly thereafter, Eleanor departed from Skyhold and hastened towards Orlais. She gave no real reason behind her sudden departure, simply stating that she had some matters to attend to and would be back within a week's time. 

For her part, Elizabeth was relieved. One less person hanging over her shoulder, she thought to herself. By the end of the afternoon, however, Elizabeth was certain that the Maker had heard her cry for help. He was answering her prayers.

“Elizabeth.” 

It was Maxwell's voice that approached her as she sat on a random log in the courtyard. She did not turn to face him, instead opting to keep her eyes glued on the people in the lower courtyard. She watched as the healer tended to some wounded soldiers who had just come back from an excursion. He was running about frantically and complaining that they were running low on medical supplies and healing ointment.

She could faintly hear her brother’s voice, despite his close proximity.

“I will be setting out for Emprise du Lion shortly. We’ve received word of Red Templars ransacking Sahrnia. I know mother just left, but don't be worried. I've asked Cassandra to look out for you and make you feel at home as much as possible.” He paused momentarily, remembering how the fierce female warrior protested. _I should go with you,_ she had said. _I would be of more use to you out in the field._

But he couldn't allow it. He couldn't risk her safety, although he knew she was quite capable of handling herself. But these were Red Templars. He needed a party of mages on his side.

That, and Cassandra was the only person he trusted to look after his sister. “The others have agreed to help as well. Varric has already volunteered a game of Wicked Grace and Sera will more than likely try to pull you into playing pranks on unsuspecting targets.” He chuckled suddenly, recalling the pranks he had played with her. “This one time, she had the bright idea of placing a bucket of water right above-”

He stopped short of finishing his story. Her face was void of any emotion, but deep down Maxwell knew she was hurt. Physically, emotionally and mentally. 

_Cullen won't go through with it,_ he wanted to tell her. _He will decline the marriage proposal, just don't tell mother._

But he couldn't. He was afraid that somehow it would reach his mother and she would know he betrayed her trust. It was best kept between the only two that were aware of this fact.

“Look,” he sighed heavily as he took a seat next to her, “I’m sorry. I know an apology won't fix things, won't take back what I did. But I am truly sorry for what I did. It was uncalled for. I know you looked up to Michael and you may not believe me when I say this, Liz, but I loved him more than anyone. He was my younger brother. My best friend. But, Liz, what he did was cowardly. He ran away from his problems instead of standing his ground and facing them like a real man. He abandoned us, abandoned _you!_ I cannot forgive him for that.”

“But even so, I should not have taken my anger out on you. I wish more than anything that I could take it back because the thought of having hurt my little baby sister is killing me, Liz.” She could hear the telltale sign of tears in his voice. He was on the verge of sobbing. “Tell me how I can fix this, Liz. I swear by the Maker, you name it and I will do it. Please.”

Elizabeth stood slowly, brushing any dirt that may have made itself to the back of her dress. “Are you finished?” she spoke, her voice stinging him like shards of ice. He looked up at her, brows furrowed. She looked so much like his sister, but this woman before him did not carry the same air about her. Where his sister was kind, this woman was indifferent. Where his sister had always consoled him no matter how big his failures, this woman pushed him away. No, this shell of his sister was not the same woman he had known all his life. How small a thing, a split second grave mistake, had changed her.

“Safe travels,” she added before leaving him to sulk alone on the hard, wooden surface. 

Elizabeth did not look back. Her blue eyes burned with hate. Anger. Hurt. She sucked in her bottom lip, biting down on the tender flesh in hopes of keeping her tears at bay. She picked up her skirt, lifting the hem so as not to trip over it as her pace quickened. She could feel his eyes on her and the very air he breathed was suffocating her. She needed to find a safe and secluded place. Somewhere where she could blend in with the surroundings and be forgotten.

Somewhere like the tavern. 

Her feet carried her of their own accord before her mind even processed what was going on. She entered the dimly lit area, the smell of musk and malty beer hitting her full force. It almost knocked her back as strong as it was, but she steadied herself. The few occupants that were celebrating the end of the work day early turned to look at her. 

She stood out like a sore thumb. Her extravagant dress, shining brightly like the morning sky amongst a pool of dark and dirty rags, garnered her more attention than she cared for. Her eyes glanced up and she noticed that the upper levels were practically empty. She had lost hope in blending in, at least down stairs, so she hurried up the stairs to higher ground. The wood creaked under her weight, though to her ears it sounded louder than thunder. 

When she made it to the top, Elizabeth let out a breath, realizing that she had held it since she left Maxwell. Her chest heaved as her body drank in much needed oxygen. She looked around nervously before opting for a table in the corner of the room. There was no one up here. The noises below, muffled voices and clanging tins of toasts, drowned out her own thoughts. 

Yes, this was what she needed. She closed her eyes, letting her ears absorb all the ruckus from below. Her mind drifted as she strained to hear the stories that were being shared. A soldier was recalling the events at the Storm Coast and how the Inquisitor had taken down the leader of the Blades of Hessarian. 

The loud thud of her heart reached her eyes, her hands clammy with anticipation as the soldier told the story.

_He was a brute. Tall man with a strong physique. And he had two giant, vicious Hessarian hounds. Needless to say, we were all shitting ourselves. The Inquisitor approached him calmly and we stayed behind to make sure the Hessarian soldiers did not go back on their word and attack the Inquisition party._

_After exchanging some words, the next thing we saw was a large axe swinging in the air and aimed straight at the Inquisitor. I think the axe would have killed him, but Madame de Fer cast a barrier spell that repelled the attack. The hounds came out with teeth bared and one of them even sunk his teeth into the Inquisitor’s calf. The Inquisitor fell to the ground with a bone chilling cry. His sword fell from his hand._

_The Hessarian leader stood before him. His eyes were not human, I swear to you. Maker strike me where I sit if that man was not a demon. He swung his axe back with the most sadistic, crazed look in his eyes and the Inquisitor was powerless to stop him. The two mages were fighting from a distance, their mana almost depleted, and Seeker Cassandra was dealing with the other Mabari. It looked as if the Inquisitor was done for and I think all of us were holding our breaths, praying to the Maker that we would make it out alive if the Inquisitor fell. With as much force as he could muster, the Hessarian leader brother his axe back with full force and --_

“Why is such a beautiful woman sitting alone, I wonder.”

Her eyes shot open instantly, pools of blue darting back and forth frantically until they focused on a strange looking man that had made himself comfortable at her table. In her peripheral, Elizabeth could see that the upper level of the tavern had become more occupied. Off to her right there were a couple of Inquisition men dressed in identical green garments and to her left a man and woman were having a drinking contest if one was to go by the empty bottles scattered about their table.

Bringing her attention back to the man that had interrupted her thoughts, Elizabeth cleared her throat and addressed him. “May I ask what you are doing at _my_ table, Sir..” she trailed, waiting for him to provide his name. 

“Arainai,” he provided smoothly, his voice resembling a seductive purr. “Zevran Arainai. And if you must know, Lady Trevelyan, as to what I am doing at your table, the answer is quite simple. _I am enjoying the view._ ”

The words didn't register at first, but when she finally made sense of them, Elizabeth blushed deeply. “Quite the charmer, aren't you?” It was a rhetorical question, but this Zevran character felt the need to add his two cents.

“Charming _and quite good looking_.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “There are at least five empty tables up here, Sir Arainai. Could you not have propped your feet up on one of them.” She turned her nose up at him, finding his lack of manners repulsive. 

The Elf chuckled, “Ah, forgive me, my lady. Where are my manners.” He slid his feet off the table, planted them securely on the ground as he leaned forward, and in one fell swoop pulled her chair closer to him until her knees rested between his widespread thighs. 

Startled, Elizabeth jerked back and almost lost her balance, but Zevran caught hold of her and planted a steady hand on her arm. “I have a gift for you, beautiful.” 

Those words did not bring her comfort. In fact, she wanted nothing further to do with this man, much less accept whatever strange gift he may offer. Before she could decline as politely as possible given the situation, Zevran fished something out of the belt at his torso. He produced a dingy, yellow like parchment. His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke.

“Your brother sends his regards.”

At the mention of her brother, Elizabeth’s face lit up. “Michael sent you? How is he? Where is he? Wait, how do you know him? How do I know you're even telling the truth?”

Zevran held his hands up defensively. “One question at a time, love.”

Elizabeth nodded as she took the letter from him. “Is he safe?”

“Yes,” replied the Elf. “He's in Tevinter at the moment. I ran into him there on my way to complete a mission for the Inquisition. He asked me to give this letter to you when I arrived.”

Elizabeth smiled as she tried to picture her brother, happy and safe - even if it was Tevinter. “Will you do me a favor, Sir Arainai?” Her hand went to the top of her corset and his eyes lit up.

“Payment is not necessary, my lady, but I would never turn down a woman so beautiful as you.” He leaned in closer, his smirk growing wider.

She stopped to look up at him. “Really, does that ever work? Do women truly swoon and fall to their knees in hopes that you would ravish them with lines as pathetic as those?”

“No,” he said earnestly, “but you could be my first.” 

Elizabeth groaned with disgust as she finally pulled out her letter, slightly damp from having been cradled against her bosom all day. “Give this to my brother when you see him. Please. I have no other way of getting it to him.”

“And what do I get for my trouble?” His smirk was strangely charming and for the first time since she stepped foot inside Skyhold, Elizabeth giggled.

“I would be in your debt, Sir Arainai. Ask for whatever you wish, though I warn you I do not have much in the way of gold. It is my father who is rich, not I.”

Zevran pursed his lips in a thin line, his eyes dilating in deep thought. “I would be more careful offering men whatever they wish, love. I know what I would ask of you, but your brother has explicitly warned me that he would feed me my own body parts if I laid a single finger on you. Alas, I can not, with a clear conscience, allow you the pleasure that is Zevran Arainai.”

She was now laughing loudly at his dramatic display and Zevran found her smile to be strangely contagious. His own lips curved upwards, but only for a moment. His keen skills and senses had alerted him of another figure approaching. The _creak_ of the wooden stairs and the heavy, familiar clang of _his_ boots identified the man even before he had made it to the top of the stairs. 

“Kiss me.” 

He raised his eyebrows at her strange request. He studied her frantic eyes with amusement. He was just about to ask her what she had consumed when her hands flew to his and guided him back to her waist. She held his hands there until she felt the tight grip of his fingers. 

“Kiss me,” she practical begged. This was her chance. Her moment. Her opportunity. Cullen had made it to the top of the stairs and there was no doubt that he would see her, especially with the way her clothes stood out. If he saw her kissing another man, there was no way he would want her and she would be free to return to the Free Marches, albeit it with a fuming Eleanor. 

“Lady Trevelyan, as much as it hurts me to decli--”

_”Please.”_

He sighed heavily and despite common sense, he indulged her. He knew what game she was playing and he knew she was bluffing. If it was a jealous Commander that she sought, then a jealous Commander he would give her. “As you wish.”

He leaned in, his eyes fluttering closed as his lips parted slightly. She closed her eyes shut as she awaited the feel of his lips against hers. But he was taking his time. Slowly, bit by bit, second by excruciating second, he inched closer to her until she felt his hot breath against her lips. The sudden sensation shot her nerves and all but destroyed her steadfast resolve as her hands sprung up to push against his rock solid chest. 

“Wait,” she protested. “No, stop. Zevran. I changed my mind.” 

He would not relent. He leaned in even closer, one hand rising to meet the supple skin of her cheek - _the good side of her face._ “Just one kiss, my Lady,” he licked his lips seductively. “What is the harm in that?”

She opened her mouth to protest but suddenly Zevran was being pulled from her embrace. In the blink of an eye, Cullen had grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him away, sending his chair falling. Zevran stumbled, struggling to gain solid footing as Cullen pulled him up.

“The Lady said _no_ , Zevran.” His voice was low, dark, and dangerous. She had never seen Cullen - nor any man for that matter - so calm yet so furious at the same time. “I believe you have a report for the Nightingale. See to it that I never see your face around here after you deliver it.” He let go of the man and Zevran chuckled, feigning innocence. 

“My apologies. I’m a bit hard of hearing.” He winked at Elizabeth playfully before deciding it was best to leave, lest Cullen stared at him so hard that he would spontaneously combust.

Silence fell between them, awkward and maddening. She didn’t know what to say, but thought something was better than nothing. “Thank you for-”

“What game are you playing, Elizabeth?” His voice boomed with little regard for anyone else that could hear him. 

She hung her head. “I’m not playing any games, Cullen.”

“Really?” He stood in front of her now, towering over her small frame. She lifted her eyes to look up at him and he leaned down to meet her gaze at eye level. His pupils were blown wide, the black pool of abyss devouring almost all traces of golden hue. “Out here in the tavern, alone with a leech like Zevran with his hands all over you - that’s not a game? Letting him grope and kiss you when it's clearly evident that you’ve never been with a man before. You’re not fooling anyone, princess. Stop parading around like you’re a common whore.”

“And what if I am?” she spat back with newfound defiance. “Perhaps I am some common whore who would fuck a man I just met simply because I wanted to.”

“Is this supposed to make me jealous? Is that what you are aiming for?” He threw his head back in a dark chuckle before bringing his mouth dangerously close to her ear. “If I were a jealous man, princess,” he whispered sensually, his voice full of dark promise. “I would bend you over this table and take you _right here, right now._ ”

Her eyes shot to his, words to discredit his claim hot on her tongue. But she did not have a chance to voice them. Before she could process what was going on, the young noble woman found herself being tugged up by the hand. The force of his strong pull sent her flying straight against his chest and the next second, with little effort, he had her pinned down against the table. 

She could hear the gasps of those who had the privilege to watch the exchange, but soon everything went quiet. Everything was still. No one dared to move or speak, or breathe. 

“Tell me that I won’t do it,” he dared her. He was not a man to carelessly throw words without weight. If she didn’t believe him, then he would prove it to her.

Her chest was heaving with ragged, deep breaths. Her blue eyes were fear incarnate, laced with desire of the unknown. Her body was reacting to him in ways she was not familiar with. Her stomach was clenched in a deep knot, heat pooling in between her legs.

Maker, why was she thinking about him like this? He was the enemy.

Eternity ticked by with him nestled between her legs, her skirt hiked up enough to where he could push himself plush against her. His hand held her wrists captive above her head while his other hand worked to support him so that all his weight was not resting on her.

He watched her emotions shift from shock, to fear, to a glimmer of lust, until ultimately she settled on defiance. 

“Unhand me,” she demanded.

Her voice seemed to break him out of his trance. _Maker’s breath,_ what was he doing? And with the Inquisitor’s sister no less. 

His eyes regained their amber allure and his grip on her loosed. Carefully, he studied her face, unsure of what to say. 

“Did he do this to you?” he asked when his thumb brushed gently against the swelling, his finger smearing some of the makeup that had been used to over the mark. She winced and he quickly retracted his hand for fear that he hand hurt her. 

Then it dawned on him. Maker, he was no better. Rage had boiled inside him at the sight of her struggling in another man’s arms and here he was taking his frustrations out on her. He berated her like a child, tossed her around like some rag doll however he saw fit. 

He pulled away from her completely and held out his hand for her as he stood erect. “Forgive me.”

Her eyes darted between his offering and his eyes, her mind concluding that the Commander had a split personality issue. She brushed his hand away as she sat up, slowly gliding herself to the edge of the table until she felt solid ground under her soles. 

She stood without his assistance and, for the second time that day, walked past him. She clutched her chest where her brother's letter was securely tucked away, her heart racing a million miles per second. It seemed that she would not find peace from him even in the tavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Cullen can toss me like a rag doll any day.~~
> 
>  
> 
> It was only recently that I came across Zevran’s mission in DA:I and I thought to myself, “I have to work him in here somehow!” Ta-da! 
> 
> Just a quick update cause I really want to get to the next chapter because drama!! Oh, I can't wait <3
> 
> As always, thank you for all the love!


	5. Just Like Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric gives Elizabeth a nickname.  
> Elizabeth finally stumbles on a sure-fire way of getting out of the marriage.  
> And it's not good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needed to split Day 3 because there will be a lot that goes on and this just seemed like a good stopping point.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~And I was bored at work.~~

> _Dear Liz,_
> 
> _Please, for the love of the Maker, find another perfume. Your letters reek of patchouli._
> 
> _And please stop worrying so much about me. I am safe. I am fine. For the time being, I am staying at an inn on the border of Tevinter and Nevarra. Of course, tension is growing between the two powerhouses but I've managed to keep a low profile._
> 
> _I'm worried more about you, Liz. Your last letter mentioned a marriage proposal to Maxwell’s Commander. Was father not going to send you to the University of Orlais? Your previous letters spoke of your plans to attend. You seemed so happy about it._
> 
> _Has mother overstepped and forced father to agree to this ludicrous marriage? Elizabeth, tell me. Are you alright with this? Say the word and I will come get you. You can live with me. I can not afford to send you to Orlais to study, but we can live a peaceful life until something comes along. I have been receiving more assignments and the gold is slowly pouring in. We can live comfortably, Liz._
> 
> _I must go now. I have another contract in Antiva and I am to leave before daybreak if I am to make it in time. Take care of yourself, dearest sister. I look forward to your next patchouli laced letter._
> 
> _With love,  
>  Michael_

__

She read the letter over and over again, happiness welling up inside her until she was afraid she would burst. He was well. He was safe. And he was offering her a way out.

She had given up on studying in Orlais the moment her mother told her of this marriage proposal. Elizabeth knew there would be no way out except for the Commander to refuse and it did not seem that he would, despite all her efforts.

She would write back to him, she decided, under the cover of the night. She would ask Leliana, the Inquisition Spymaster, to deliver her letter to Zevran. From there, she prayed Zevran would be kind enough to take it to Michael.

But for now, she was hungry. All that happiness and glee had taken a toll on her body and her stomach growled. She had missed breakfast as she was too busy laying in bed and re-reading her brother's letter. 

Elizabeth dressed in a modest, brown cotton dress since her mother was not there to reprimand her. She threw her black hair up into a messy bun, applied the concealer her mother had left her, and doused herself in her patchouli scented fragrance with a giggle. She glanced at her reflection, noticing that the swelling on her chin and side of her jaw had gone down - surely thanks to the cooling medicine the healer had given her yesterday. The bruising was minimal as well and she didn't need much concealer to cover up the now greenish hue. She was healing remarkably fast given how strong her brother's swing had been.

Without dwelling more on the matter, Elizabeth proceeded to the kitchen, fast paced steps carrying her into the main hall. Varric raised an eyebrow as she practically skipped past the dwarf, unaccustomed to seeing the Inquisitor's sister so cheerful. 

“You're in a better mood, Stormheart.”

Elizabeth stopped and looked over quizzically at the short man. “Stormheart? As in the metal?”

“The one and only,” responded the dwarf proudly as if he had just came up with the most suitable nickname for her.

“Master Tethras, why in the world would you name me after a metal?”

“Well, you see, Stormheart,” he began, “it’s not just any metal. When you first see it you think, ‘oh, it’s just some old scrap.’ But mine enough of that stuff to forge yourself some armor and then you'll see how truly magnificent it is. There's more than meets the eye when it comes to Stormheart. I just thought it was fitting.” He smiled at her before shrugging his shoulders. “I'm usually a very good judge of character. It comes naturally.” 

She stifled a giggle and for the first time looked every part the noble lady. It made Varric’s heart flutter in a strange way, almost as if he was watching his sister smile for the first time in a while. It made him happy.

He sighed contently. “Run along now, Stormheart. You looked to be in a big hurry.”

She nodded and walked briskly past him, in search of the kitchens.

“Oh,” she heard him say behind her, “Wicked Grace. Tavern. Sunset. Be there.”

\---

Elizabeth had her hands full. She had grabbed three bread rolls, a wedge of cheese, an apple and a pear, a jug of milk and some honey. Eleanor was not here to chastise her for her eating habits and Elizabeth would make sure to cram as much food as she could for the next week.

“Did you hear about the Commander?” A hushed whisper slowed her pace as she strained to hear. It was one of the servant girls who she had just passed in the kitchen.

“No,” replied another voice. It was barely audible and Elizabeth leaned against the wall that separated her from the two speakers in hopes that she would hear better.

“One of the mages was found practicing blood magic. They say the Knight Captain all but ripped her to shreds until that Qunari mercenary stopped him.”

“Given his past,” the other voice chimed, “I can understand why. He saw his fellow Templars slaughtered at the hands of mages who had been given too much freedom. It's only natural that he would hate such creatures.”

The rest of the conversation was drowned out as a sudden realization dawned on her. Elizabeth almost dropped the contents she was carrying, her mind spinning. How easy, how incredibly simple and she hadn't thought of it. The perfect way to make Cullen hate her, to ensure that he would never marry someone like her. 

_Blood magic._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story and also the reason I had Varric nickname her Stormheart. First play through in the Arbor Wilds noticed that Stormheart was literally EVERYWHERE. It can't be any good if it's just laying around in enormous quantities, I thought to myself.
> 
> So I picked up a few and when I finally got back I decided to see what kind of armor I could craft. And wouldn't you know it, Stormheart had the highest rating for my schematic. I panicked, went online to see where else I could find Stormheart (this was before DLCs and tier 4 materials) and of course I was SOL. There were others who had made the same mistake of underestimating Stormheart and were now stuck cause it could not be bought anywhere at the time. 
> 
> Moral of the story, don't judge a book by its cover. Or quantity, as it were. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and as always thanks for all the kudos <3


	6. Like Mother, Like Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth enlists the help of a certain Tevinter mage.  
> Elizabeth accomplishes her goal.  
> And Elizabeth regrets everything she's done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes. As always, this was entirely written in my "smart" phone.

“Master Pavus, _please!_ ”

She had begged him practically all morning and it was finally starting to dawn on him that she would not relent no matter how many times he turned her down.

“It seems that the trait of being quite thick in the head runs in the Trevelyan bloodline,” he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I'm not sure how many more ways I can say this for you to comprehend: **I do not practice blood magic.** ”

“But you're from Tevinter,” she countered.

Said Tevinter rolled his eyes. “And you believe, what? Everyone from Tevinter practices blood magic?”

“Well,” she paused, her mind racing on what little she had learned about Tevinter throughout her studies. “...yes?”

Dorian groaned in annoyance, “Look, sweetheart, whatever game it is you are playing, stop before someone gets hurt.”

“I'm not playing any games,” the young noble woman huffed. “I require the services of a blood mage for...for personal reasons.”

“And what reasons might those be, hmm? Wouldn't happen to have anything to do with our dashing Commander, would it?”

The look on her face said it all: she had been caught. But how? How was he able to see through her intentions? Maybe he didn't know. Perhaps he was just guessing.

“I-I don't know what you are implying, Master Pavus.”

“Cut the bullshit, sweetheart. I know about the arrangement and from the way you act around him, a fool could deduce that you cannot stand the man. Now, tell me why you are seeking blood magic.” Damn, he was good.

Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped in defeat as she realized that this was a losing battle. “I don't want to marry him. And the only way to ensure that he will not marry me is to associate myself with blood magic. I don't need blood magic per se,” she began as she walked over to the cushioned chair in the corner of Dorian’s own little library. “I just need to make it look like I'm seeking someone who practices it.”

Then it dawned on her. “Dorian, can you give me a name of a blood mage? Any name will do.”

He looked at her quizzically. “I suppose. For what purpose?”

Clasping her hands together, she looked up at the Tevinter mage with bright, shining eyes as if she had just solved all her woes. “I will write a mock letter to said blood mage and casually drop it around the Commander. He will pick it up, read it, and demand that I be sent from his sight.” She waited for his expression to mimic hers, waited for him to realize how brilliant her plan was.

“You're utterly mad.” That was not the reaction she was hoping for. “Why not just tell him you do not want to marry him?”

Casting her gaze off to the side, she replied in a somber tone, “You wouldn't understand.”

Dorian could tell this was not a subject the young noble woman wanted to delve into. With a sigh, and against his better judgement, he said only three words. 

“Blood Band. Fallstick.”

\---

How had she never heard of such a cult? Was she truly that sheltered?

A cult that operated on blood magic in return for health and sustainability from their “leader.” It seemed so simple, yet so backwards and barbaric at the same time. 

Elizabeth shook her head as if to dispel her opinions of this group and gingerly picked up her quill. 

__

> _  
> Ser Fallstick,_
> 
> _My name is Elizabeth. For purposes of protecting my family, I will not disclose my surname. Recent events in my life have led me to seek desperate measures, and that is why I write to you._
> 
> _I have been offered in marriage to a man I do not know nor have any desire to know. Simply declining the offer of marriage is not up to me, as I come from a noble family and noble women rarely ever have a say in any aspect of their lives. Solidifying this marriage is solely up to the man I have been offered to._
> 
> _I fear that he will not decline. But he must. If I am to live anything close to resembling a life of happiness, he must decline. And that is where you come in, Ser Fallstick._
> 
> _I do not know much of blood magic, but I hear that you are able to influence the actions of others through use of their blood. If I was to send you a vial of this man’s blood, along with any amount of gold you seek, would you perform this ritual and make him decline this absurd arrangement?_
> 
> _I am confident you will see How dire my situation is and I wait your consent with bated breath._
> 
> _In confidence,_  
>  Elizabeth  
> 

\---

So far, everything had been easy. Everything but catching the Commander alone in order to “accidentally” drop the mock letter. The more time seemed to pass in completing her master plan, the less sure she felt of herself.

But even now, as she waited in the main hall with the letter pressed tightly against her breast band, she couldn't help the loud thump of her heart and the perspiration of her palms. Why was she so nervous? She had been all but hell-bent on this just hours before. 

Perhaps, she decided, it would be best to wait another day or two to ensure that this was truly the way she wished to end things. For all she knew, Maxwell could end up sending her to the gallows for the remainder of her miserable existence and then all this would be for naught. 

‘Even then,’ she thought to herself as she pulled the letter from her chest, clutching it tightly in her hand as she walked back to her chambers in defeat, ‘a life in prison would still be better than life with a man I do not love.’ 

Just as she rounded the corner to head up the stairs, Elizabeth collided with something rock solid that sent the letter flying from her hand as she fell backward towards her doom. But the clash of stone against her rear never came.

Instead, Elizabeth felt a strong arm wrap around her small waist, steadying her mid-fall. 

“Are you alright, Lady Trevelyan?”

She looked up at the owner of the voice, only to find that her knight in shining armor was the one man she had been trying to get alone all day. Heat began to rush to her cheeks at the sudden realization of how snug their bodies were against one another as he held her and how dangerously close his gloved hand was to cupping the very rear he had just saved.

Pushing against his chest while regaining her composure, she mustered whatever strength she could find to appear indifferent towards him. “Fine, thank you. Perhaps you should watch where you are going from now on, Commander.”

The chuckle he gave her just then sent shivers down her spine. It was so melodic, so beautiful that she wished she could hear it again and lose herself in her enemy’s voice of velvet. 

So lost in her sudden fantasy of the man she despised, Elizabeth did not notice the Commander kneel down to pick up something as he mumbled “apologies” to her. 

The letter, having fallen open turning her almost tumble to the ground, lay flat against the stone floor, the words staring up at her. 

Cullen made to rise to his feet as soon as the letter was in his hand, but the quick glance his eyes had caught gave him pause. Normally, he would not be so crude as to read another’s letter, but the name that stared back at him was one he was all too familiar with: Fallstick. A blood mage he had come into contact with several times in Ferelden. 

She watched as Cullen’s eyes paced back and forth as he read each line of her letter and she suddenly found herself bending over him in order to reach it. “Commander, that is not yours to read!” She meant to sound infuriated at his lack of respect in regards to her privacy, but her tone was more akin to something of panic. 

He rose to his feet, easily swatting her hand away and keeping the letter out of her reach. When he had finally finished, his hand dropped to his side, his eyes downcast and head hung low in contemplation on how to address this. 

Seconds ticked by, but for Elizabeth is seemed like hours. Each moment of silence ate at her until she knew that what she had done was a big mistake. “Cullen, you don't understand. It’s just-”

“Just what, Elizabeth?” His head snapped in her direction and his eyes, fueled with pure anger, locked with hers. “You despise me so much that you would turn to blood magic?” His words cut like a jagged knife while his eyes seemed to burn her alive, effectively silencing and immobilizing her. 

His hand balled up into a fist, crumpling her letter in the process as he tried to hold back the rage that was coursing through his veins. “Do don't worry that pretty, little head of yours, Lady Trevelyan. I would not marry you if you were the last woman in Thedas.” 

She stood, stunned, even was he pushed past her, his shoulder intently knocking into her and pushing her aside. He stopped suddenly, his back to her as he spoke, “I suggest you do not speak of this to your brother, lest you wish to be executed.”

And with that, he was gone. 

\---

Elizabeth spent the rest of the day in her room, sulking in feelings of anger, shame and regret. She had expected the Commander to lash out at her, to yell at her and berate her like the foolish child that she was. But his almost calm demeanor was eerie. Not a muscle on his body betrayed any anger he may have felt, save for his eyes. Those golden pools of molten amber were lit aflame with pure hatred. They seared through her, reducing her body to ashes and leaving her completely vulnerable under his intense gaze.

Elizabeth shuddered at the remembrance of his fierce gaze, goosebumps peppering her skin. She rolled over onto her stomach and pressed her face into her pillow in a feeble attempt to suffocate herself. 

What had she done? 

Had Cullen really deserved this?

It wasn't like the marriage thing was his idea, yet she took it out on him like he was the mastermind behind it all. She treated him like the dirt beneath her feet, barely gave him the time of day to get to even know the man, and now used the most traumatic time in his life to make him hate her.

Who was this vile, heartless creature that had taken over her mind and body? Who was this woman that went to any lengths to get what she wanted, even at the expense and pain of others?

It seemed that she was her mother’s daughter after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if Cullen actually ever ran into Fallstick (I have not read the comic) but I'm using this crazy cult and bending their encounters to my whims :]
> 
> I couldn't remember if Dorian practicing blood magic was ever confirmed in game (although I'm pretty sure it never is made clear). I'm gonna roll with the idea that our favorite Tevinter hottie is not a practicing blood mage.
> 
> I know I said this chapter would be longer, but that was like what? Ten years ago. Whoops!
> 
> Apologies for the late update. Been very busy :( will try to update on a weekly basis. Thanks for all the love <3


	7. Caught in the Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell returns.  
> Elizabeth volunteers her help.  
> Cullen gets caught with his pants down...literally.

Cullen had avoided her at every turn. Days passed by and she could feel the guilt gnawing at her core. She wanted to apologize to him, to tell him it was all a foolish plan she had conjured up, but his ability to leave any room she occupied with unmatched haste was uncanny.

She could barely glance at him long enough before he disappeared, let alone stop him to exchange a word or two. So she gave up, locking herself up in her room for most of the day. The servants would being her food, though most of it went untouched. 

She hated herself, hated what she had done.

The days dragged and even as her brother returned from his adventures in Emprise du Lion, Elizabeth could not bring herself to leave her bed. Maxwell had come to her the moment he arrived, having been briefed by the Nightingale on his sister's unusual behavior. He worried that she had fallen gravely ill, but she reassured him that she was just feeling a little under the weather.

That was two days ago.

She was sure if she didn't get up and make an appearance that Maxwell would come knocking again and somehow - out of guilt, hate, or self-pity - she would cave and tell him everything she did. She wasn't sure she could handle much more hate or avoidance from anyone else in her life.

With a heavy sigh, Elizabeth pulled the sheets off her body, flung her feet to the side, and prepared to tackle the inhabitants of Skyhold and her brother with the best smile she could muster.

\--

She hadn't expected to bump into him, much less for him to even acknowledge her, though at this point she assumed he was trying to be civil on behalf of the Inquisitor. 

“Good morning, Lady Trevelyan,” he offered curtly, his tone cutting through her. His eyes avoided hers deliberately and at that moment she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

She had hurt him. 

More than she could have ever imagined. It was supposed to be an innocent prank, her “out” in this ludicrous marriage proposal her mother concocted. But the look on his face that day was seared into her mind. A look of hurt, mingled with pain and hate. His demeanor, one second cheerful and light as he found amusement in her insult to him, contorted into something she wished to never see again. Memories of that horrid time in his life had come flooding back to him and it was clear as crystal on his face. 

He made to brush past her in the small hallway, even as she stood still, unable to return his greeting. As his arm brushed against hers, she found her body moving of its own accord, seeking him.

She latched onto his forearm, spinning around to face him as he turned his head sideways to look at her. “Cullen, _please_ , let me explain,” she begged, her voice trembling. 

“There is nothing to explain,” he countered coldly. 

Her grip loosened at his words, her resolve faltering as he pulled his arm from her grasp. She watched him silently as he walked away, disappearing into the main hall as he rounded the corner. She wanted to run after him. She wanted to make him stop, to make him listen to her. But she had done enough damage as it was.

\--

She searched for Maxwell in the courtyard, the tavern, the healer’s, practically everywhere. She wasn't sure why or what she would even say to him, but she had to see her brother. 

“Looking for someone, Stormheart?” It was Varric, off to her right, ever the observant dwarf. “You know, I'm still wounded that you bailed on a game of Wicked Grace with us the other day. You should know I do not extend my invitations lightly.”

“My apologies, Master Tethras, it slipped my mind.” It was the truth. Between hatching her plan and wallowing in the aftermath of it, she thought of little else except how utterly miserable of a human being she had to be to have pulled off something as despicable as that. “You wouldn't happen to have seen my brother?” 

“Sure,” he smiled, feeling sympathetic towards the young noble woman who looked like she hadn’t slept properly in days. And she seemed much thinner than when she first arrived. “War room. Second door on your left.”

“Thank you so much,” she bowed slightly before turning toward her destination.

She entered through the door that Varric had pointed out which led to what seemed like someone’s study. The fire was quietly cracking in the corner, the flames illuminating the darkness and casting light into the quiet room. Her eyes followed the bookshelves that lined the walls, the desk perched up in the corner of the room, and finally to another door directly across from here. 

That must be it, she thought to herself as she approached the door. However, behind that door was a long hallway that led to yet another door at the end. How many doors did one fortress need?

Slightly annoyed at the architect that designed the labyrinth, Elizabeth crossed the hallway in quick strides but slowed when she caught the exchange of two familiar voices. She placed her ear to the door delicately, straining to hear what was being said. 

“Inquisitor, we must answer King Alistair’s invitation.” That was Cullen, she was sure.

“I cannot simply abandoned the Western Approach. We know the enemy is gathering there and we must find out for what purpose.” She could recognize her brother’s voice anywhere. 

“If we do not answer this summons, I'm afraid we will lose any aid that Ferelden could bring. We would be alienating ourselves. Half the citizens already think that we are Orlais’ puppet.”

“Let them think it,” boomed a furious Maxwell. “After all that we have done for them, if that is what they want to believe then so be it. I'm not here to please Kings and Queens. I'm here to stop Corypheus.” 

Cullen sighed, “I understand, Inquisitor. I will let King Alistair know that the Trevelyan family will not be attending.”

Whatever this was, it seemed awfully important to Cullen. Deciding that this was an opportunity for her to make amends, even in the slightest, she pushed open the heavy door. The sudden intrusion caused both men to look towards her with equally quizzical faces.

“I'll go,” she stared almost proudly, but her voice faltered as she realized that now they knew she had been eavesdropping. “Uh…sorry about that. I didn't mean to pry. I just happened to walk by and heard-”

Maxwell raised his hand to silence her, “It’s alright.” He looked to Cullen, contemplating on his sister’s proposal. It could work. The letter did not specify the Inquisitor by name. Rather it was vague, stating only that the Trevelyan family was called to appear before the King and his people. 

Maxwell turned his attention back to his sister, “This isn't something to be taken lightly, Liz. King Alistair would not summon us for idle chatter.”

“I've been playing the game since I was a child, Maxwell. I know how to handle the court and royalty.”

He pondered another moment as her eyes stole glances at the Commander. He seemed indifferent, which she supposed was better than anger.

“Are you sure?”

Her brother’s question pulled her gaze back to him and she bit her lower lip timidly. “Only if Cullen is alright with it.”

Maxwell quirked an eyebrow. Since when had Elizabeth started to care about what Cullen thought. And on a first name basis, no less. How much and _what_ exactly had transpired between these two while he was away? “Well, Commander?”

\--

He agreed reluctantly, much to Elizabeth's surprise. She had been packing since then, having been informed that they would be leaving come sunrise. 

He didn't seem too fond of having to spend time with her, but she hoped that any help she could provide would begin to bridge the gap between them. She knew this would not fix things, but small steps were better than sitting in her room all day feeling sorry for herself.

But guilt was still eating at her. She needed to talk to Cullen again and this time she would tell him everything. She would tell him how wrong she was for not even giving this thing a chance. She would tell him how sorry she was for being so rude to him since her arrival when all he did was try to make her stay comfortable. She would tell him that her plan was foolish and how sorry she was and how she planned to spend the rest of her life seeking his forgiveness.

With a deep breath, she gathered her courage and proceeded towards Cullen’s quarters. Her mind was reeling with how to approach him. All the possible outcomes played out in her head. And before she knew it she found herself face to face with Cullen’s door. 

She knocked tentatively, barely audible but to her it sounded like thunder. She waited for an answer, but instead she could hear the groans of someone inside, as if they were in pain.

Without thinking, she swung open the door, worried that something might have happened to the Commander. “Cullen! Are you alri-”

Her sentence was cut short at the sight before her. Cullen was bent over his desk atop another woman, their movements stilling when the intruder happened upon them. His head snapped up towards the door, his molten amber eyes locking onto her pools of blue. 

His face was strained with a mixture of exertion and surprise, sweat beading on his forehead from his performance. The woman below him did not look up at her, opting to keep her face against the Commander’s desk.

It seemed like ages whizzed by before Elizabeth finally remembered to move her legs. “I'm so sorry!” She quickly turned on her heel, practically running back to her room from embarrassment and…

Jealousy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruh-roh! Looks like Cully-Wully needed to expel some frustration. 
> 
> Just a quick update. I'm trying to get them on the road asap because I have so many delicious ideas for them when they are alone and a few may or may not have to do with Alistair *swoon* I'm a sucker for those Chantry boys. 
> 
> Thanks for all the love <3


	8. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW-y I guess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to catch any mistakes, but at this point I'm slightly dyslexic...

To say that their ride was awkward was an understatement. They had been shoved into the back of a carriage despite Cullen’s protests that he would rather ride to Denerim on horseback. According to Josephine, as Lady Elizabeth Trevelyan’s escort he would have to act the part of a noble gentleman rather than a commander. 

They had sat in silence since their departure from Skyhold. Elizabeth would fidget with the fabric of her gown every now and then, and Cullen would simply clear his throat whenever it got _too_ awkward. Neither spoke a word for, quite frankly, they didn't even know where to begin. 

The image of Cullen on top of the red-headed woman kept flashing in her mind. She tried her best to block it out, told herself that she didn't care what or whom he did because she had no feelings for him. She didn't even want to marry him.

Yet she felt hurt. Seeing the man whom she was supposed to marry taking pleasure from another woman. But she wouldn't marry him, he made it very clear. Not even if she was the last woman in Thedas…

Not that he even needed her, seeing as he hand his hands full last night.

_‘Stop thinking about that, Elizabeth,’_ she scolded herself, shifting nervously in her seat and earning a quick sideways glance from the Commander. 

This entire time she worried about how to get of out this marriage while he was casually fucking another woman. 

_‘How many times?_ ’ She wanted to ask but bit her tongue. It was none of her business.

Cullen could tell she was uncomfortable. She was huddled up in the corner opposite him, practically glued to the side of the carriage in order to avoid the slightest contact with him. Not that he minded, but it was going to be a long ride to Denerim. 

“You are allowed to relax, Lady Trevelyan. There's plenty of room.”

She casually glanced in his direction. “I'm fine just as I am.”

Cullen rolled his eyes at her stubbornness and returned to his previous endeavor; counting the number of trees they passed since it seemed more entertaining than present company. 

_‘Besides, I wouldn't want to catch anything you may have contracted last night._ ’   
  
“What is the purpose of this summons from the King?” she asked, forcing conversation in order to keep her thoughts quiet. 

Cullen shrugged, “Just a show of power to his people, I suppose. The Inquisition has been dealing more with Orlais since the Empress was assassinated. As powerful as the Inquisition is, we could tip the scales in Orlais’ favor and Ferelden fears that may cause Orlais to invade and occupy them yet again.”

Elizabeth bit her lower lip, contemplating the information. “So, we just show up as a gesture of good faith?”

“More or less. You will more than likely be required to address the people of Denerim in a formal speech on behalf of your brother. I'll deal with Alistair’s military commander.”

She stole a glance at him, her eyes quickly scanning his face. His eyes were downcast, almost half-lidded as if he were on the cusp of falling asleep.

“Exhausted, Commander?” she teased. “Perhaps you should limit your nightly escapades so as not to strain yourself.”

_‘That was bold_ ,’ she told herself. Too bold.

Cullen snickered, “Is that concern for me I hear? Or are you just jealous?”

“Jealous!” she scoffed. “Commander, I assure you, there is nothing to be jealous of. I was offered to you in a proper marriage, not like some cheap whore that has to sneak into your chambers for whatever little bit of attention you would give.”

Where was this coming from, she wondered. Why had she suddenly become so defensive? Why did she care who he slept with and when? 

Trying to mask the obvious, she quickly added, “I am merely concerned that you will be unable to perform your duties for this summons seeing as you are half asleep as it is.”

“On the contrary,” he chuckled, seeing that playing along with this would provide some amusement on the long ride, “taking my pleasure from a woman _gives_ me energy. Perhaps you would like to come here and assist me with that?”

Her head snapped in his direction, her sapphire eyes latching onto his. Those beautiful pools of amber were dancing with mischief and delight. He was amused by this.

She felt the color rush to her cheeks, despite her best attempts to keep it at bay. “I thought you wouldn't want me even if I was the last woman in Thedas, Commander,” she countered coldly.

How she wished to wipe that smirk from his face. “I said I wouldn't _marry_ you even if you were the last woman in Thedas, but,” he paused as their eyes locked once more and he licked his lips for added affect, his tongue darting over that delectable scar on his lip, “ _I’d still fuck you._ ”

Her face flushed crimson and he could not hold back the deep rumble in his chest. Perhaps he was taking it too far, this was the Inquisitor's sister after all, but at the moment he didn't care. It was entertainment.

She was dumbfounded. This man had barely spoken two words to her in days and here he was messing with her to his amusement. It infuriated her. 

But she was glad that he was at least speaking to her again.

“I do not go for sloppy seconds, thank you,” she smirked at her comeback. “Besides, from what I saw and heard last night, I'm not impressed.”

No sooner had those words left her mouth when she found herself being pulled forward towards him. His strong arms had wrapped around her, pulled her flush against his chest. One hand abandoned her upper body in favor of hiking up her skirt, allowing their bodies to touch with only the fabric of his breeches separating them. One knee was nestled between her thighs while his hand rested on her outer thigh, the other still wrapped tightly to her waist. 

Her face was centimeters from his.

“I would take my time with you, Lady Trevelyan,” he purred as his thumb began to lazily draw circles on the flesh of her thigh. “I would make sure you came again and again by my fingers and my mouth,” he inched closer, their lips almost touching, “before I took my pleasure from you.” 

His hips bucked upward against her and she could feel his hardened member against her inner thigh. Any trace of embarrassment or shyness was lost in the moment as her eyes closed instinctively, the friction of his knee rubbing against her hot core eliciting a moan from her lips.

It was his cue.

He pulled his hands back to remove his gloves only to place them back in their respective positions. The one on her thigh, however, traveled much further up, brushing against her smalls.

Another moan as her hands clutched at the fabric of his military coat.

“Cullen,” she breathed heavily, unable to form coherent thought. She wanted to pull away. This was the enemy. But her body refused to listen.

“Say the word,” his lips found the delicate skin of her neck where he nibbled and licked between words, “and I will stop.” His fingers expertly pulled back the fabric of her smalls, the sudden cold air against her newly exposed skin causing her to shiver in delight. 

They were so far into it, how could they turn back now?

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face closer as one hand found purchase in his golden locks. Her hips grinded against him of their own accord, the movement causing his finger to brush up against her throbbing need.

“Cullen, _please_ ,” she begged, her hips continuing to chase some sort of friction.

A growl vibrated against the skin of her neck the moment his finger touched her wetness. _She was wet for him._

Without warning, Cullen plunged his thick digit into her, making her cry out his name in praise. His finger slipped in easy enough seeing as how wet she was for him, so Cullen decided to waste no time in adding another.

Her cries of ecstasy became louder as she bucked against his hand. His other hand found itself tangled in her hair, pulling her face down to his. “Best be quiet, princess,” he warned, “or the driver might hear you.”

There is was again. That smirk that she hated yet found utterly enchanting at the same time. She found herself drawn to it. Her lips came crashing against his, feverishly seeking his tongue with her own. He gladly obliged as his fingers continued their assault, his mouth swallowing up her moans.

His fingers curled, hitting that one spot she could never reach on her own, and the intensity caused her to pull away from his lips with a loud cry for release. 

“Cullen, I’m so close,” she panted, her face dropping to to the crook of his neck.

“Elizabeth,” she heard him say.

“Don't stop, Cullen,” she begged. She was on the verge-

“Elizabeth?”

The fog that had been clouding her mind dissipated and Elizabeth found herself still cuddled up in her corner with a rather annoyed Commander across from her. She blinked, looking around.

It was all a trick of her mind.

“Have you prepared a speech?” Cullen asked for the third time, impatience coloring his tone.

“I-I…”

Speech? What speech? What had they even been discussing before her mind went on this crazy roller coaster? 

“Of course I have,” she lied, straightening out the skirt of her dress. This was going to be a long, long ride.

\--

It was quite the long road from the Frostback Mountains, across practically all of Ferelden, and to Denerim. Travel with a carriage had proven to be much slower than Cullen hoped, so the decision was made to rest for the night at an inn they passed along the way, somewhere between Lothering and South Reach.

Elizabeth was glad for the unscheduled stop. Her muscles were tense and she wasn't sure how much longer she trusted her mind to be alone with the Commander. Fantasies were running rampant.

They paid for four rooms, one for each of them and the two escorting Inquisition soldiers. After supper and some mead, each traveler retired to their respective rooms with understanding that they would be leaving again at daybreak. 

Elizabeth's room was directly across from the Commander’s while the other two were further down the hall. Try as she might, she could not block out her thoughts.

Why was she having these inappropriate daydreams about Cullen? Was this her mind’s way of coping with the guilt she was feeling over the whole blood magic ordeal? 

_‘You should go apologize_ ,’ she thought to herself.

_‘You already tried but he dismissed it,_ ’ she reasoned with herself.

_‘You will never get over this...this thing until you right your wrongs.’_

_‘Right _my_ wrongs? He was the one sleeping with another woman while betrothed to me.’_

_‘Technically he had called off the marriage when you caught him.’_

_‘Ugh, this is ridiculous.’_

She was arguing with herself over this insignificant man who refused to leave her thoughts. Perhaps her other self was right. Perhaps the only way to truly get over this was to tell him the truth. All of it. 

\--

She knocked on his door quietly, reminding herself not to barge in regardless of the noises she hears lest she find a repeat of last night. 

She heard him say “come in” and with a deep breath she straightened her nightgown and proceeded to open the door.

He was sitting on the bed in the corner of the room, in the process of discarding his boots. His shirt had already been tossed to the floor. Once both boots were off he looked up at her quizzically, having expected the visitor to be one of his men.

She blushed, averting her gaze from his exposed, well defined chest. What was she doing here, she thought to herself. This was maddening. Why did she not just go to bed? 

_‘You have to face it sooner or later, Liz,_ ’ she told herself.

“Cullen,” she spoke sternly, having found some strength in the fact that she couldn't do much more damage than what she had already done. She looked over at him sitting with his legs apart, his body leaning forward as he rested his elbows on his knees. “I'm sorry.”

She heard the heavy sigh he gave as he pulled back. He reached for the covers and just as he opened his mouth to tell her yet again to forget about it, she cut him off.

“No, please, will you hear me out?” Her blue eyes pleaded with him and for a moment Cullen felt pity for her. He simply nodded, dropping his gaze from her as he listened.

With a deep breath, she began. 

“There is a man in Orlais that teaches at the University. A Professor Abbott, a very highly intelligent man.” Cullen was unsure of how this was important, but he chose not to interrupt.

“Officially, he teaches principles of Economics. _Unofficially_ , he teaches on the history, effects and uses of magic. He has traveled all over the world to learn what he can of magic; from Tevinter to the most remote settlements of Dalish Elves. I wrote to him several years ago and it was my wish to study under him.”

The night of the feast flashed before him as Cullen remembered Elanor’s remark. _If you do not start behaving like a proper lady I will speak to your father about that little college in Orlais and you will never see a single sovereign._

“Professor Abbott believes that there is a way to safeguard mages from possession, a way to eliminate the possibility of them becoming abominations without stripping them of their humanity. He even thinks there may be a way to cap a mage's power, to allow them to still practice their magic but at a much more manageable rate. But lack of interest from the public in researching further and with no funding to back him up, Professor Abbott has been unable to make much headway.”

She paused for a moment, steadying herself for she knew that what was to come would bring her to tears. She inched closer to him, timidly.

“You see, when I said my brother Michael moved away it wasn't entirely the truth. He fled. His...magic manifested when he was sixteen. My parents were disgusted and immediately arranged for him to be taken to Ostwick Circle, to be locked up like some common criminal.”

“Michael could not live such a life, so he ran. I haven't seen him since, though I have written him in secret over these eight years. I convinced my father to let me study in Orlais and everything was going exactly as planned. I was going to go to Orlais and find a way to bring my brother, and all other mages, back home.”

“That was until my mother proposed this marriage. I was so angry at her when I found out. I realized that any hopes I had of saving my brother were shattered instantly. No husband would let his wife go off to study while he waged war against a monster that could annihilate the whole world. I couldn't refuse, as you might have guessed, because my mother would make sure I never saw Orlais if I went against her wishes. So the only way to ensure that I would go to Orlais was to make sure that you refused the marriage. No harm, no foul on my behalf.”

The words were flowing effortlessly now and she realized how much she had kept bottled up and how badly she needed to get it all off her chest. Cullen, ever the engaged listener, watched her as she went on.

“I treated you terribly. You didn't deserve my anger, you were just as much an innocent party in my mother’s schemes as I was. I wanted to make you hate me but it seemed that whatever I tried failed. Then I overheard a conversation in the kitchens one morning. Two servants were discussing the blood mage that had been caught and how you had been furious. Foolishly, I thought it was the perfect way to finally make you hate me enough to call off this marriage.”

“So I wrote a letter with absolutely no intention of ever sending it. Looking back, I feel like I betrayed not only you but Michael as well. I was resorting to the very fear that society has of mages to get rid of my problems. I am so sorry, Cullen. I wish I could take it back. I wish there was something I could do to make this right.”

There was some silence between them as Cullen absorbed her story. He could hardly blame the young woman for resorting to what she did, knowing now her reasoning behind it. But it was still wrong of her, regardless of the pity he felt.

When he didn't speak, she hung her head in shame, her hands fisting the fabric of her nightgown. “I will tell Maxwell and my mother what I did and that this marriage proposal is no longer void.”

“There is no need,” he finally spoke. He felt a sadness overcome him as he looked at her; frail and vulnerable. She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other, her curious eyes darting every now and then to him before shyness consumed her. He wanted to help her. He wanted to console her and tell her everything would be alright. He wanted to make her smile again. “I will tell your mother that I decline the marriage. No one has to know what happened.” And no one had to know that this entire thing was a sham that the Inquisitor asked him to go along with.

“Truce?” 

Her head snapped up in his direction, her eyes landing on the hand he had extended. She studied his expression. It was sincere, a genuine offer of ceasefire. Hesitantly, she crossed the gap between them and placed her hand in his and they exchanged a firm handshake.

“Truce,” she nodded with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now if I ain't on a roll xD 
> 
> Feeling rather inspired I suppose. I have been playing with the idea of a Jacob Frye fic because I've read almost all on here and my mind and body just need more Jacob Frye. Ugh.
> 
> Our little lovebirds have made up, but I have a feeling this won't be their last quarrel xP 
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	9. The Mage Assassin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter an unexpected visitor.

She was right. Coming clean to Cullen about the whole ordeal had calmed her mind of the guilt, but that was about it. 

Instead of sitting in silence with her thoughts and fantasies to entertain her, she was sitting with Cullen and having a genuine conversation - _with her thoughts and fantasies still playing in her mind_. 

Somehow they had started talking about their pasts and Cullen was currently telling her a story about his older sister Mia and how he had beat her at a game of chess once.

Elizabeth listened intently, but her mind wandered yet again. That smooth voice stroked her ear gently, his chuckle causing her stomach to flutter. The way his lips moved as he spoke, the way his scar made something so perfect imperfectly perfect, sent her mind racing with thoughts of what his delectable lips would feel like against her own.

_‘So much for getting past this by facing my problems,’_ she thought to herself as she tried to cease her thoughts.

They were on much better terms now and she was glad for that at least. Regardless of the newfound feelings that were growing inside of her or the inappropriate thoughts of her ex-fiancée, she was happy to finally see this side of him. She felt so carefree talking to him as it seemed to come natural to both of them. 

A comfortable silence fell between them when Cullen finished his story and Elizabeth suddenly felt a pang of loneliness at having lost the sound of his voice. How she wished to listen to him for a while longer. 

“Why did you volunteer to do this?”

She looked up to find him staring at her, his eyes hard and focused. 

“I…” Why did she offer to assist her brother in this venture? Was it because she felt bad about all she had done and this was her way to redemption? 

No, that wasn't it.

She dropped her gaze to her hands nervously, “It seemed important to you.”

“That doesn't quite answer my question,” he remarked with a snicker. A light blush crept onto her cheeks, casting her in an almost angelic, innocent glow. Cullen had to swallow the knot in his throat.

She couldn't even meet his eyes. “Well, I just-” _wanted to make you happy somehow_ “thought it was the right thing to do after, you know..what I did.”

Cullen seemed to ponder on her answer a short while before deciding to drop it. “Well, regardless, thank you. It is important to me. Ferelden is my home, after all.”

A sudden wave of nervousness hit her all at once. This was important to Cullen. What if she screws it up? What if she says the wrong thing? So many _what ifs_ were swimming in her head and her chest tightened from anxiety. So much depended on her doing _everything right._

“Cullen, what if I mess this up?” He could hear the fear in her voice, the uncertainty of her abilities. “What if I end up making things worse?”

He took a deep breath, “You’ll do fine, Elizabe-”

Suddenly their carriage rocked furiously, sending both occupants flaying about. Cullen caught her quickly enough, steadying her before her body fell to the floor of the carriage. She thanked him as they felt the coach come to a halt. 

“Benson,” Cullen called out to one of the soldiers, “what's going on out there?”

Elizabeth pulled herself from his grip and watched as Cullen made to open the door, his hand resting atop his sword. He turned to her, “Stay in here.”

She nodded. Cullen quickly exited the coach, closing the door just as quickly. Her heart was racing as she listened for any sounds, but she was too afraid to look of the window to watch the scene unfold. She pressed her ear to the door, making sure to duck low enough so that she could not be seen through the window.

“Who are you?” She heard Cullen demand, his voice full of authority. “Name yourself.”

“Where is she?” another voice retorted. It sent shivers down her spine for the simple fact that their attacker’s voice was full of promise and danger. There was no doubt that this person would not hesitate to kill them. “Where is Elizabeth?”

_‘What?’_

Did the attacker just ask about her by name? Did someone know they were traveling to Denerim? She assumed Maxwell had enemies, but she never imagined that she would be caught in the middle of it. 

“I'm afraid I do not know of whom you speak, assassin. If you wish to leave here with your life, I suggest you move along.”

The other man tsked. “Don't play dumb with me, Templar scum. Hand her over and I'll make sure your death is painless.”

She heard the sound of swords being unsheathed and her heart raced. She was scared for Cullen, even though she knew he was quite capable of handling himself. But how many attackers were there? Could he take them all on?

Swallowing her fear, Elizabeth dared to peek out the small window and no sooner had she done so before she flung open the door and ran towards the intruder. 

The outburst caused Cullen to turn around, his arm reaching for her in an attempt to stop whatever foolish plan she had cooked up. But he retracted the moment he heard her say his name.

“Michael!”

She ran toward the tall man, her arms immediately wrapping around his neck and his wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him tightly.

“Liz,” he let out a sigh of relief, chuckling as the familiar patchouli fragrance she wore welcomed him. “Thank the Maker you are safe.”

Cullen stood watching in silence and the two siblings refused to let go of each other, afraid that at any moment they would awake and find that this was all some cruel figment of their imagination. He wasn't sure if he should stand down, if this man still posed a threat, so he kept his sword unsheathed. 

When she finally pulled back, Elizabeth looked up at her older brother with tears rimming her eyes. “What are you doing here, Michael? How did you know where I was?”

He finally let her go, his eyes throwing a cautious glance at the Commander. “Your last letter mentioned that you wanted to run away. I came to get you.” His daggers were placed back at his side, safely tucked away but still within quick reach if the Templar tried anything. “My associates were able to intercept a letter about your attendance in Denerim. It was a perfect time to rescue you.” Suddenly, Michael’s dark and calculated eyes moved to rest on Cullen. “Is this him?” His voice was low. Dangerous. Dark.

Elizabeth stole a glance back at the Commander before quickly turning back to her brother and pushing against his chest gently. “Michael, it isn't like that-”

He brushed her aside, pulling her back to stand behind him. “Are you the man who was going to take advantage of my sister? Truly, you Templars have no morals.” 

“Advantage?” Cullen countered with a curious flick upward of his brow. “I did not force her to do anything. I believe that was all your mother’s doing.” Cullen could read the man and he knew that would get a rise out of him.

Before Michael could lunge at the older man, Elizabeth locked both her arms around one of his and held him back with all her strength. “Stop it! Both of you!” 

She could feel Michael tense under her touch, but he backed down. He turned to look at her, his blue eyes burning. “Why are you defending him?” 

“He's not the enemy, Michael. There was just a big misunderstanding and it's been cleared up since I wrote that letter. I'm fine now.” She smiled reassuringly at him.

He processed her words for a few moments before giving a defeated sigh. “Whatever you say, sis,” he took her hand in his, pulling her along with him, “let's go.”

“Wait, what?!”

“We are leaving. You said-”

“I can't leave, Michael.”

“But you said-”

“I’m going to Denerim.”

“Why?”

Cullen stayed back, listening to the exchange.

“I,” she paused, searching for the right words, “I promised Maxwell that I would do this.”

His grip on her hand tightened at the mention of his brother’s name. “You intended to keep a promise to the man that was ready to sell you out to this old, washed-up Templar?”

She cowered under his fierce gaze. “It complicated. And don't call him that.”

“It's complicated? Pray tell, little sister, how is this complicated?”

_‘I meddled in a blood magic prank to piss off the old, washed-up Templar and this is my way to atone for that mistake.’_

She tugged her hand free of his and squared her shoulders. “I'm doing this, Michael, whether you like it or not.” She didn't need to explain herself. It was a secret between her and Cullen.

Michael shook his head, disbelief adorning his strong features. “I came all this way…” he mumbled to himself before turning to his younger sister. “Fine. I'm going with you then.”

“What? No, you can’t! If anyone finds out who you are, you'll be imprisoned!” He was an apostate after all.

“Either I go with you or you go with me. Take your pick.”

\--

Protective brothers are perhaps the worst. Maxwell was tolerable. In fact, he seemed ready to marry off his sister against her wishes to sate his mother’s hunger for power and recognition. Perhaps he still would do so, if his plan to fool his mother does not pan out as he hopes.

Michael, however, was the complete opposite. Cullen found himself respecting the man between their stare-down. At least he cared enough for his sister to come rescue her from the awful predicament she had been put in.

“Did he touch you?”

The thick silence was cut by his sudden interruption. Elizabeth’s head snapped to look at her brother, her mind clearly lost in the fog of her own thoughts. Dumbfounded, she asked, “What?” 

Before Michael could repeat his question, a deep crimson blush crept onto her cheeks at the realization of what exactly her brother was asking. “ _No, no, no_ ,” she quickly stammered. Her hands, which had previously been resting in her lap, unmoving as if she were a statue, were now fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. 

_Well, there was this one time in the tavern, but I may have kind of liked it. Sort of. It wasn’t welcomed or anything. But it did kind of feel...I don’t know, nice? No, that’s not the word. But it did turn-_

“Why are you so red then?” His eyes lowered in accusation, his fingers dancing along the hilt of his dagger, ready to pull it out the moment Elizabeth divulged what Cullen had done.

She averted her gaze, “Because you’re asking such a...ludacris question.” She willed her racing heart to slow down as she took deep breaths, calming herself so that Michael would not see through her. He was good like that. Even as children, she could never hide anything from him, whereas Maxwell was always blind to her mischievous acts. “Cullen is a respectable man, despite what you think of Templars.”

He was an apostate, it was only natural that he hated the Templar order. “Respectable?” he spat, his distaste dripping from the very word. “No Templar is respectable, little sister. The sooner you learn that, the better off you will be.”

Cullen, who had remained quiet since they continued their ride to Denerim, was growing more irritated by the second. Sure, the Templar order was not perfect. It was corrupted by many. But not all of them were the same. He could listen to the slander for only so long.

“I suppose being an assassin for hire is a much more _respectable_ profession.” Both siblings looked at him with surprise, but for very different reasons. It was Elizabeth who spoke first.

“What are you talking about, Cullen? My brother is a mage. His only crime is that he fled before my parents could stick him in the Circle.” She seemed so certain that this was true, it almost pained Cullen to shatter the image of her brother she had come to believe. But she had a right to know.

“That dagger,” Cullen tilted his head, gesturing to the piece of metal at Michaels waistband, “has the mark of the Crows etched into the pommel. It is the same dagger that Zevran still carries around. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.” Cullen was being smug, but two could play the game of slander.

Elizabeth turned to face her brother, her blue eyes growing bigger with concern. “Is that true, Michael?” Her voice was timid, almost pleading for her brother to deny these ridiculous claims. The Michael she knew would never hurt anyone, much less commit murder in exchange for coin. “Please, tell me he’s wrong.”

His chest heaved as he let out a big sigh. There was no point in denying it. “Liz-”

“No!” Her voice was raised, laced with that authoritative tone that seemed to run in the Trevelyan family. “ _Tell me he is wrong._ ”

He could not look her in the eyes, knowing that he would only find disappointment there. How could he explain to her that he had not been given any other choice? How could he justify to his little sister the fact that he had to take another’s life in order to survive?

“He’s not wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back ^.^ Sorry for the long hiatus. In the time that I was gone, I had a baby and became a SAHM. I would say that means more updates, but this little shit is cranky and completely glued to me. But I love her to pieces :)
> 
> Hope you guys stick with me through this. Thanks so much for all the support!


	10. Challenge Accepted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio arrives in Denerim.  
> Alistair and Cullen make a bet.  
> Alistair makes his first move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely happy with this chapter, but if I look at it any longer I'll scrap the entire damn thing >.<

Elizabeth had refused to speak to either of them the rest of the journey. The moment their horse-led carriage stopped inside the gates of Denerim, she pried open the door without waiting for the King’s guard to let her out like a noble lady. Cullen could see why she had been mad at her brother, but he was puzzled as to why he had been thrown in the same boat and received the silent treatment for the better part of the day.

The moment her feet touch the ground, a ceremonial horn blew and Denerim guards rushed to her side. They moved to assist her, but she brushed them off with a wave of her hand. The guards stood back, assumed their stance, and waited for the other occupants to dismount from the carriage. Elizabeth did not wait for them.

Her blue eyes wandered, taking in her surroundings. It was nothing special. In fact, it seemed run down and she could think of a dozen different cities much better suited to be home to the King. However, as her gaze lifted, eyes taking in the grand castle before her, she stood in awe. Not because of the beautiful stone craftsmanship or the tall towers erected at every corner. No, her eyes were locked on one thing. The King stood atop the stairs in preparation of welcoming his guests.

_He is gorgeous._

_Yes, that’s the first thing you should think after taking just one look at him._

He was clad in a brilliant red fabric with gold embroidery, both colors complimenting his fair skin and golden locks. His smile, a dashing set of pearl white teeth guarded by a delectable set of lips, greeted her as she approached. 

To the King’s side was a man, his advisor she assumed, who leaned over to whisper something in his ear. Alistair held up his hand which earned him a displeased look from said advisor. Slowly and with calculated steps, the King descended the palace stairs, greeting his visitors. 

“You must be Lady Trevelyan,” his voice was smooth and silky, yet at the same time light and full of life. “I must admit, I expected the Inquisitor himself to show up. But I am glad to have been wrong. I doubt he is as beautiful as you.”

_And he's a charmer._

Elizabeth curtsied, lifting the hem of her dress while bowing her head, hoping that the King would not be privy to the blush on her cheeks. “Your Majesty.”

“Please,” his voice melted in her ear. He placed both his hands on either side of her, gently lifting her up from the formal bow. “Call me Alistair. _Your Majesty_ just makes me sound pompous.” 

_A King who doesn't take himself seriously, is charming with a voice that can make any woman tremble with need, and he's good looking?! Mother should have aimed higher than the Commander of the Inquisition._

“King Alistair,” she corrected, feeling that a first name basis was much too ill-mannered. “The Inquisitor sends his regards. He wishes he could have made the journey himself, but his preparations to fight Corypheus have kept him busy. I have come in his stead, on behalf of my brother and the Inquisition. I have been given full authority to discuss any matter that you may have wished to have my brother present for.”

Alistair nodded, his eyes settling on something behind her. “Cullen,” he greeted with a cheeky smile, “long time no see, my friend.”

Cullen nodded as he moved to stand by Elizabeth’s side, “King Alistair.”

Another figure caught his attention and Alistair turned to look at the strange man who had taken guard at Elizabeth’s other side. “I don't believe we have met. You are..?”

Despite the hate she felt for her brother at the moment, Elizabeth began to panic. What if they found out he was an apostate. He would be executed on the spot. He deserved no less, seeing as he took the lives of others. But he was still her brother and deep down, under all the present hate, she still loved him. 

“He's my personal servant,” she interjected calmly, earning a sideways glance from her brother. 

“A male servant? As opposed to someone of the same sex.” He chuckled, “Is your husband quite alright with that?”

She smiled coyly, turning to look at Cullen on her left side. “Why don't you ask him yourself.”

Astonishment colored the King’s features. “Cullen? Married?” If there was one person he thought would never settle down, it was Cullen. The man was practically married to his work. 

“Soon to be,” Cullen added, his eyes questioning the younger woman beside him. Since when was she proud of announcing their arranged marriage? 

On her right Elizabeth could hear her brother sneer at the exchange, clearly displeased at the idea of his only sister marrying a Templar. He would have sliced Cullen’s throat then and there, but Elizabeth had given him a role to play. And play he would, lest he reveal himself and be hung from the castle rooftops.

“This is the first I hear of you being engaged. You have never mentioned such a beautiful woman in your life. It all seems so sudden.” Alistair was many things. Dumb was not one of them, although he liked to portray himself as such.

Before Cullen could offer an explanation, Elizabeth interjected. “It was love at first sight,” she explained. “We have only known each other for a few months, it must have just slipped his mind. We would be honored if you would join us for the ceremony, King Alistair.” She smiled coyly, ever the prim and proper noble lady.

She was right about one thing, Cullen thought as he recalled the meeting in the war room. She knew how to play the game. Though that thought did not leave him any less bewildered. What was she doing, announcing their soon-to-be cancelled wedding to the King? Was she just trying to get back at her brother? Or was she playing another angle altogether?

Despite his shock at the revelation, Alistair mustered a big, bright smile, “Well I'll be…” He turned to look at Cullen, equally quizzical glances exchanged between the two. He would question his friend further on the matter later. “We must celebrate. Here, tonight!” He turned to his advisor, dismissing him with a wave of his hand, “Have the kitchen prepare only the best feast for tonight and send the couriers out.”

\--

“Do you truly intend to marry her?” He knew his friend better and it seemed very out of character for him to suddenly show up with bride in tow. Alistair watched as Cullen leaned against a support pillar on the other side of the room, his molten amber eyes cast down as he watched the castle staff through the window. They scurried about, rushing to secure the freshest meat from the butcher, the best produce from the farmers, and the strongest mead from the brewery. It seemed as if everyone was rushing to prepare this impromptu feast that the King had announced.

“What does it matter to you?” Cullen countered without sparing a glance at the other man. 

“She doesn’t strike me as your type.”

“Oh?” This caught Cullen’s attention as he turned to his friend, a smirk playing on his lips. “And what do you know of my type?”

Alistair shrugged, carefree as usual. “Admittedly, not much. But she is not suited for you. She is of noble birth and should be treated as such. The life of a Queen, not a Commander’s wife.”

Cullen crossed his arms as he fought back the urge to burst into laughter. “Are you saying you are interested in her, Alistair?”

“Perhaps I am,” he admitted. She was beautiful, there was no denying it. A bit too thin, but nothing he couldn’t fix. And with her came the added bonus of tipping the Inquisition’s power from Orlais and into Ferelden hands. “A marriage between the crown and the Inquisition could be useful. Sadly the Inquisitor himself is not my type seeing as I am more interested in women. And his little sister,” he paused to glide his tongue over his lips, “is _quite the woman_.”

At this Cullen tensed. “Careful, Your Majesty. You are talking about my bride-to-be.” What was this foreign tone his voice had suddenly adopted? Was he jealous? No, he couldn’t be. He could care less about her or this sham marriage. If he needed release, he could find it in a dozen women within Skyhold alone. He didn’t need her.

“Ah, so you do intend to marry her?”

“Not precisely-”

“Then you would not mind if she spends the night in my bed? Don’t worry, I would not touch her without taking her as my wife first. I’m a good Chantry boy.” That was a lie, and both of them knew it. But to be sure, Alistair added quite cooly, “ _Unless she begged me to_.”

Cullen’s fists clenched. He had to keep reminding himself that Alistair knew just how to push his buttons and relished in getting a rise out of him. “You’re not her type,” he retorted, turning his attention back out the window. He wasn't even sure if Elizabeth had a type, but he imagined Alistair was not it. 

“Is that a challenge I’m sensing?” Oh how he loved those. “Like back in the day? Find the prettiest lass and see who can woo her first.” He snickered, recalling one young maiden in particular. “Remember that one girl, the dark haired beauty from Nevarra?”

“The one that let us both go at her at the same time?” Memories stirred desire in him, but it was fleeting. Was he suggesting the same of Elizabeth? 

“Yes, that’s the one. She was something else.”

Cullen hummed in agreement. She had been up for anything, even letting them both penetrate her at the same time. They had stretch her out quite nicely as they both fucked her cunt, then her ass, and finally her mouth. But she was just some whore looking for a good time. He was willing to share such women with him. 

Not Elizabeth. She was not like that. 

“Now, I’m not suggesting we do the same here,” Alistair’s voice broke his train of thoughts, “I would not want to share Lady Trevelyan, you see. As the future Queen, I cannot allow her to be tainted by another. I do hope you understand.”

The smirk that played on the King’s lips told Cullen all he needed to know. “You planned this, didn't you? You knew the Inquisitor’s sister was in Skyhold.”

“And I knew he would send her instead of coming himself,” Alistair proudly admitted. “Don't act so surprised, my friend. It is a political marriage I seek, nothing more. Ferelden cannot appear weak during these troublesome times, you know that. We need to secure the Inquisition forces and the power it holds before Orlais snatches it.”

Cullen tsked, “I did not think you to be the type that takes advantage of an innocent young woman just to gain more power.”

“Isn't that precisely what you are doing,” Alistair countered without missing a beat. “The Inquisitor’s sister as your wife? Sets you up quite nicely as a predominant player in the battle for power.” Alistair paused, watching the other man tense under the accusation. “Unless the Inquisition disbands, it will always need a leader. Who steps in when the Inquisitor is gone? Isn't that what you're after?”

Refusing to entertain such a ridiculous notion, Cullen pushed himself off the support pillar and crossed the room in quick strides. “And what exactly do you plan to do, hmm? You've just announced my marriage to her to all of Denerim. How will it look if the King steals away another man’s wife?”

Alistair chucked, “I have not announced your marriage yet. There's still time to change her mind. It could very well be my marriage that we are celebrating tonight.”

A possessiveness seemed to take over the Commander. His voice was dark, his smile sinister. He would be damned if he let her fall into Alistair’s arms. “May the best man win.”

\--

Elizabeth had spent most of the day being pampered, a much needed relaxing bath, foot scrub, and a cooling elfroot mask to take care of the puffy, dark circles that adorned her sapphire eyes. Afterwards, she was taken to the King’s tailor, who had the most exquisite dresses lined up for her to try. She wasn't sure why the King's personal tailor was stitching together women’s clothing, seeing as the King was single, but she brushed it off as her eyes landed on a red gown in the midst of a pool of pastels. “That one,” she examined, pointing at the bold, daring dress. 

And it was even more daring when she finally put it on. The corset was pulled tightly, her breasts pushed up and seemingly bigger. But unlike most dresses, it did not pool out at the waist. It continued to hug her curves, down her backside, along her thighs and to her knees, where a slit at the right side exposed her leg. The fabric felt thin and luxurious against her skin. Lace detail was stitched into the bodice, the same pattern sprinkled sparingly across the skirt.

Her brother would shit bricks. The King would not be able to keep his eyes off her. And Cullen would be jealous. Three birds with one stone.

Her hair was pulled back by one of the female servants while another worked on her makeup. When they were finished, they led her to a full length mirror in the corner of the room where Elizabeth was able to truly appreciate the workmanship of the gown. 

Just as her hand began to trace the detail, the heavy thud of boots approaching filled the room. She turned to see the King, with a guard on either side of him, enter the room. She wondered if he even needed their protection, recalling all the stories she heard about him during the fifth Blight. He was a reputable warrior.

“There you are,” he triumphed, as if he were a hunter who had just caught his prey. “I wanted to personally ensure that you are being treated well and if you-” he stopped mid sentence, the words he meant to speak lost on his tongue at the sight of her. “Maker, _you are beautiful._ ”

Her cheeks matched the color of her dress, a modest smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, King Alistair.”

He seemed to stare at her for hours, though only seconds ticked by before he cleared his throat. With a wave of his hand, Alistair dismissed the two guards, the tailor, and the two women who had been preparing Elizabeth for tonight's celebration. “I wanted to speak to you about tonight.”

Pulling away from her reflection, Elizabeth turned to face the man, her smile fading ever so slightly. She was not keen on celebrating her nonexistent marriage to Cullen, but she had to play along. No one could know that Cullen had promised to call off the engagement, especially not Eleanor.

But what did it matter now? She no longer needed to study under professor Abbott, seeing as her brother was quite capable and happy living the apostate assassin life. He can live the rest of his miserable existence in solitude, she thought to herself. She would send him from her sight the moment they were done with their business in Denerim. He was no longer a brother to her.

But that was a lie to comfort herself and deep down she knew it.

“Invitations have been sent out. Most of the Ferelden powerhouses should be in attendance, except for those that have longer to travel. I was hoping you could address them.” He stood in front of her, his height and build easily towering over her small frame. “Just a few quick words to ensure them that the Inquisition has their best interests at heart.”

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat. He was close, too close, their bodies almost touching. “Of course, Your Majesty.” In the midst of her thoughts and racing heart, she had forgotten his request. She opened her mouth to quickly correct herself, but promptly closed it when she felt the cool touch of his hand against her burning cheek. She was on fire.

“Forgive me,” his voice was a heady whisper, his eyes glazed over as he gently stroked her cheek with his thumb, “you are a picture of perfection, my Lady. If only I had known you sooner..” He trailed, but the sight of her eyes growing bigger at his words told him he had said just enough for her to understand. He pulled away quickly, retracting his hand and casting his gaze at anything but her. “I’m sorry, I don't know what came over me.”

“It's alright,” _do it again, I think I liked it_ “I will address your people tonight. If there is anything in particular I should say, please let me know.” She changed the subject, hoping to stop her racing mind. What just happened? Was the King coming on to her? Is this another one of her mother's schemes? Does this mean she could be Queen?

_Stop it, Liz. You are reading too much into this. He is simply a man who saw a woman in a tight dress, with all her curves on display. Any man would have acted the same._

“That would be great,” he finally looked at her and smiled. “I really appreciate this, Elizabeth.”

Perhaps he had been too bold in giving himself only half the day to win her over. There was something different about her. Maybe she didn't get his hint, or maybe she wasn't interested in being his Queen after all. She was not showing any signs of wanting him, other than blushing profusely at his forward behavior. Whatever the case, Alistair knew he would have to turn the charm up as she would not be easy.


	11. Conditions of Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little flirting.  
> A lot of dancing.  
> And a dash of jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Cullen found her pacing about in a hallway off to the back of the banquet hall, a small walkway the kitchen staff used to bring food to the guests.

She was a vision. Her dark hair and fair skin a beautiful contrast against the bold, red color of her gown. The sight of her petite curves hugged by the crimson fabric set his veins on fire, and he wanted nothing more than to run his hands along her body.

Despite their differences, he was still a man with desires.

“Nervous?” His voice caught her off guard and for the first time in the five minutes he had spent silently watching her, she turned to look at him.

“Cullen,” she exhaled heavily, her feet firmly planted in one spot. Her hands rested on her abdomen, fidgeting fingers intertwined. “I'm not a fan of big crowds,” she admitted.

Cullen leaned back, casting his gaze out into the banquet hall. At least a hundred people were scattered about the various tables that had been set up, and another dozen or so joined the King at the grand table far removed from the others, a clear distinction in nobility. “Only a couple dozen,” he reassured as he turned back to look at her, “three or four. Five or six.”

“Cullen, this isn't funny.”

He couldn't help the smirk that played on his lips. Mere hours ago she was so sure of herself, an excellent player of the Game. But it seemed that was all a bluff, if one was to go by the nervous wreck she had become.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” she announced as her feet resumed carrying her back and forth. “I don't know if I can do this.”

She felt a tug at her arm as he pulled her back to face him, his other hand reassuringly resting on her shoulder. “You'll be fine, Elizabeth.”

“Are you actually being nice to me, Commander?” A genuine smile welcomed him.

“You did come here because of me,” he responded, slightly uncomfortable as he pulled his hands back. He was beginning to tolerate her. Not like, that was still too strong a word. But her presence didn't irritate him as much. He actually found her quite pleasing when she wasn't hell bent on getting him to hate her.

She grabbed a hold of his hand before it could fall to his side, gently clutching it. “Thank you, Cullen. For everything.” For forgiving me, for not going through with mother’s wishes, for the encouragement.

His heart pulsed at the intimate contact, his hand gently squeezing hers in return. Her lips, stained the same bold hue as her dress, called to him and Cullen was vaguely aware that he was inching closer and closer to them.

A sudden roar of laughter from the banquet hall brought the pair back to reality, each of them pulling away quickly. Elizabeth seemingly flustered while Cullen remained calm, though his inner demons battled with his conscience. If she were any other woman, he would grab her, push her against the wall, and kiss her till pain overtook her lips and no trance of rouge was left. But she was the Inquisitor’s sister.

He cleared his throat and extended his arm, “Shall we, Mrs. Rutherford?”

She could tell in the tone of his voice that this was just a jest, a references to their pretend play of wife and husband. Yet still she felt the pang of jealousy in the pit of her stomach at the thought of the lucky woman who would be worthy of that title.

Despite her inner turmoil, Elizabeth gleefully nodded and linked her arm with his. “Lead the way, Mr. Rutherford.”

It was all an act, yet the way his name rolled off her tongue and how natural it felt pretending to be husband and wife had Cullen almost believing that it was all real.

\--

“Where have you been? And what in Andraste’s name are you wearing?” Her brother whispered to her as he joined her in stride, leading her to sit next to the King. Cullen was at her other side, privy to the exchange of words.

“Careful, Michael, you're beginning to sound like our mother. And I don't recall being on talking terms with you.” Her voice was ice, cold and unrelenting. She had never treated him this way and it shattered his heart. He had disappointed his little sister.

Luckily for Elizabeth, they had reached the table and she sat down quickly before her legs gave out. It was hard finding the strength to hate him, yet even harder to forgive him. How was she supposed to act knowing that the one person she loved more than anything in this world was a cold blooded murderer?

Michael left her side, reluctantly taking his place a ways behind her where the other servants stood.

“Lady Trevelyan,” Alistair greeted as Cullen and Elizabeth took their seats, the young dark haired maiden seated between the two men. “You look ravishing. You best keep a good eye on her, Cullen. There's not a man in this room who would pass up the chance to steal such a beautiful woman.” He ended his statement with a light laugh and a drink of wine, winking at Elizabeth when he set the cup down.

Cullen clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth to keep his tongue at bay. Elizabeth noticed his body tense, and though she wasn't sure what game the two men were playing, she gingerly set her hand on top of Cullen’s thigh, hidden away from sight by the wooden table. It instantly calmed his anger, but spiked his lust. “He has nothing to worry about,” she assured the King and Cullen felt his chest swell with pride.

How much longer could they pretend before the lines of make believe and reality blurred, he thought? Was she aware of what she was doing to him? Did she have the slightest need, the slightest desire for him? Or was she just that good at pretending?

Alistair's smiled faded, “Well, that's good to hear. I trust he won't mind if I steal the first dance?”

Elizabeth turned to face Cullen, awaiting his reply. His face betrayed none of what he felt. Indifference colored his features, though his eyes remained soft as he looked upon her. The faint stroke of her fingers against his thigh, a gentle reassurance to not let anger get the best of him, stoked the heat in the pit of his stomach, his breeches suddenly tight and constricting. He had to distance himself from her before something happened.

“By all means, be my guest.”

\--

“Do you love him?”

She was caught off guard by the question, stammering in her answer as their bodies swayed to the music. “Who, my betrothed? Of course I do.”

“I believe you are lying to me, Lady Trevelyan,” he whispered in her ear as he spun her around before pulling her flush against his body.

“I'm afraid you are mistaken, King Alistair.” She mustered what strength she could to sound convincing, but the feel of his toned body against hers had scrambled her mind.

“Cullen told me everything.” Elizabeth's head snapped up, her sapphire eyes searching his for any sign of a bluff. “You do not intend to wed after your courtship is over. A masquerade to satisfy your mother, am I correct?”

She was livid. She stole a glance at Cullen who was still seated at the table, his eyes transfixed on them. How could he just tell the King about their plan? What if Maxwell found out? Or worse yet her mother.

There was no point denying it now. “No, we do not intend to marry.”

Alistair smiled, “And are there any other suitors who vie for your hand in marriage?”

With that question, everything became clear to her. Alistair's smile, something so beautiful, now churned her stomach. She was nothing but a chess piece in everyone’s attempt to grasp more power.

Her body tensed as anger began to take over her. “Let’s cut the bullshit, Alistair,” she was long past formality and respect, “you want the Inquisition on your side.”

“I want a beautiful wife,” he corrected, “the Inquisition is just a bonus.”

“And here I thought you to be an upfront man. My mistake.”

He snickered as his hold on her tightened. “Feisty. My kind of a woman. And highly perceptive. Yes, I want to ensure Ferelden’s ties with the Inquisition are unbreakable. What better way to do that than with marriage.”

“Marriages do have an end,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Not ours, love.” His cheek was against hers as he whispered in her ear, smiling for all the onlookers as they danced. “You would be my Queen. Your every desire would be sated. I would make sure that you were completely satisfied at my side, completely dependent upon my touch that even five minutes without me would be agony.”

“A bold claim,” her words were meant to be harsh, but with his breath caressing her ear with images of passion she could barely speak.

“A promise,” he corrected.

“Do you not think that Orlais would wage war if the balance of power was tipped even the slightest in Ferelden’s favor? Or do you simply not care about the lives of your soldiers?”

“On the contrary, Orlais would be powerless to do much of anything, unless they wished to face the mighty Inquisition.” His tone was something akin to mockery, as if he hated the actions he had to take because of how powerful the Inquisition had truly become. Such power could not be left to fall into Orlais hands. “Is it not better to be Queen than to wait for the next man your mother tries to throw you at?”

He had a valid point. She would be used for her family ties to the Inquisitor regardless, but at least this way it would be her own decision and not something her mother forced her to do. Though she could just imagine how delighted Eleanor would be to find out she was the mother to the Queen of Ferelden.

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip in contemplation, her eyes darting every so often between Cullen, Michael, and Alistair. What was she to do?

Cullen certainly did not want to marry her and she was reasonably sure she didn't want him either, although the thought pained her. Had she grown fond of the man in their short travels together? Or was she still feeling guilt over her childish antics? Whatever the case, that option was a dead end. Cullen did not care about her or what she did, that much was sure.

Then there was Michael. Her sweet, protective older brother who wouldn't step on an insect as a child. And now he was a murderer for hire. Running away with him and living a simple life out in the country was out of the question. She could not bring herself to look at him, much less live with him.

And Alistair, the King of Ferelden. She knew very little about him, other than the tales of his bravery and strength during the fifth Blight and what little she was exposed to of his personality today. He seemed like a good man, and she could not fault him for wanting to secure more power for his Kingdom, for his people. He was just looking out for them.

And he was easy on the eyes, not that his looks were a big factor in her decision or anything.

“I have conditions,” she finally spoke, steadying her resolve with a deep breath.

“Name them.”

“There is a Professor Abbott at the University of Orlais. His research is important to me for reasons I will not disclose. I want him to be properly funded to continue his research.” If not Michael, then at least she could help other mages.

“Done,” he agreed, “what else?”

“Apostates will no longer be hunted.”

“You know I cannot do that, love, even for your brother.” A knowing smirk graced his noble features, relishing in the shocked twinkle of her eyes. She was easy to read. “No, Cullen did not tell me that your man-servant is in fact your apostate brother. Any fool could see the striking resemblance between you two. Your conditions led me to believe that he is the apostate of the family, seeing as you had to hide his identity from me. Which was done very poorly I might add.”

Her jaw clenched as defeat settled in. Was she so gullible? “Fine. Apostates will be brought before the crown, where a punishment befitting their crimes will be set. Abuse from Templars will not be tolerated and will result in imprisonment. The Circles will be more lenient and Tranquility will be abolished.”

“Is that all?” His smile seemingly mocking her.

Her eyes flickered back to Cullen for a brief instant. Her heart clenched and for a moment Elizabeth struggled to breathe. Would Cullen think less of her for selling herself out like this? It wasn't like she had much of a choice, with a power hungry witch for a mother and an assassin for a brother. She had nowhere else to go, and at least this way she could make the lives of mages all over Ferelden slightly more bearable.

“I need time to think it over.”

Alistair nodded as the music died down, their dance coming to a slow halt. “Certainly. You have until morning.”

“If I may, Your Highness,” the sneer was evident in his voice as Cullen cut between the pair. He had watched in agony entirely too long as their bodies grew closer and closer, and Alistair's hand traveled further and further down her delicate back. He would have wiped that smirk off his face with one blow, had they been alone.

“Ah, of course. Far be it from me to keep a husband from dancing with his beautiful bride.” Alistair stepped aside, excusing himself in favor of hunting down more wine. The evening was going according to plan as he was fairly certain that Elizabeth would not be able to decline his offer. As to her conditions, he would have to deal with those later when his advisors berated him for making such ridiculous and dangerous promises.

Cullen took her hand in his, the other snaking around her waist as the music began to play again with a different melody. “I forgot how obnoxious Alistair could be.”

“Hmm,” she hummed in agreement. “However between all the obnoxiousness he did reveal that you told him we would not be getting married.”

“Yes, about that,” Cullen’s eyes shot daggers at Alistair's retreating form, reminding himself to give his old friend a good punch in the jaw later. “He can be trusted. He won't tell anyone.”

“I should hope not,” Elizabeth countered smoothly, “seeing as he just proposed.”

The revelation caused Cullen to almost misstep, but he steadied himself and tightened his hold on Elizabeth before she took a tumble because of him.

His amber eyes locked onto hers, “I assume you declined?”

“I have until sunrise to give him my answer.”

Cullen stilled momentarily, “You are actually entertaining his offer?” She had flat out denied him, what was so special about Alistair? Noticing the looks they were garnering, Cullen began to move again, their bodies easily falling into rhythm. Jealousy was creeping in.

“It is a good offer,” she cast her eyes downward in shame, “he has agreed to certain terms in exchange.”

His hold on her hand tightened and Elizabeth grimaced. “And what terms are worth you selling your body for?”

“Cullen, please,” she wanted to be angry at his accusation, but with all the thoughts running rampant in her mind she could not find the strength to do so. “I have no other choice.”

“Marry me.”

Her head instantly snapped up to meet his burning gaze, “What?” She must have misheard him.

“Marry me. I'll send you to Orlais, all expenses paid. Study with that professor if you like, or whatever else you desire. You'll never have to see or hear from me again.” It wasn't the most brilliant idea, but it was better than seeing her in the arms of another man, willingly or not.

“Cullen,” her features softened at the thought that he would sacrifice his happiness for her. To marry her, and no other, while she paraded around Orlais like a free woman. To rob himself of any wishes for children. The scandal of a married man having children with another woman was grave enough, but one married to the Inquisitor’s sister? It all but ensured that he could never be with another woman.

Another woman…

The softness faded, replaced by repulsion. “You'd marry me while taking other women to your bed. I'm not that desperate.”

“Are you offering yourself to me in their stead?” He pulled her closer, tighter against his body, that infuriating smirk making her blush.

She scoffed, “I’d rather drop dead.”

“That could be arranged.”

“You’re despicable.”

“And yet you have not exactly turned down my offer.”

“I-”

She what? Elizabeth wasn't even sure what to say. Everything was moving so fast, everyone grasping at her in order to get closer to the Inquisitor. That was all she was good for.

But not Cullen. Under his perverse suggestion, he offered her freedom. The chance to go to Orlais, fulfill her dream of studying with professor Abbott, and never hear from him (and hopefully her mother) ever again. Is that what she wanted?

The music died down, their dance coming to an end as if foreshadowing their relationship.

“No, I can't.”


	12. Confessions of a Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen does what Cullen does best *wink*  
> Elizabeth and Cullen get it on *wink*  
> Something happens to Elizabeth that changes the whole story *wink....idk*  
> Light (ahem) smut ahead. Read at your own discretion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly more lighthearted Alistair in this one, but make no mistake, Dom!Alistair will be back muwahahaha
> 
> .....

The rest of the night had been a blur. He wasn’t sure how or when he had left the banquet hall. He wasn’t sure if the celebratory dinner was even over. All he was sure of was that she would rather be married against her will to a prick like Alistair, than be married to him in the eyes of the chantry only, free to do whatever she wished. The thought infuriated him.

Images of her lying underneath Alistair flashed before his eyes, their intimate moments of passion taunting him. Her cries, lustful pleas begging for more, as another man brought her to the peak of ecstasy rang in his ears. It was a cruel game his mind played with him. 

Cullen grasped the sides of the table, willing his mind to focus on the present, his jaw clenched tight as he imagined her underneath him now instead of the random whore he found in the bar. Her moans - cries of _yes, more, harder_ \- were making it hard to concentrate and Cullen found himself bending over her form, his bare chest flush against her back as he brought his hand up to cover her mouth. “I’m not paying you to talk, sweetheart.” His tone was harsh, brute. 

The fair-haired woman, seemingly attractive through alcohol infused vision, nodded hesitantly before dropping her head down, biting her lip so as to not make any noise. The Commander continued to thrust into her with unbridled force, the table shaking from the sheer power of his thrusts, the wood creaking beneath their weight. 

He was close. 

_So close._

His head lolled back as the familiar feeling began to build, hot and fast, pooling at the base of his cock. With one final thrust _her_ name spilled from his lips as he pulled himself out, taking himself quickly in hand, shallow pumps completing his orgasm. His thick seed burst from his cock and spewed across the back of the woman he had just met a mere ten minutes ago. His breathing was ragged and heavy as he descended from his high. He had hoped a good fuck would get Elizabeth out of his system, but it seemed that his cock still twitched with desire to see her come undone because of him. 

He wiped himself clean with the shirt that he had carelessly discarded and confined his member back into his breeches. The woman slowly rose from her position, standing awkwardly to the side as he dressed himself. Who was Elizabeth, she thought, as she recalled the name he had just breathlessly cried out. A jilted lover? What woman would be mad enough to reject such a handsome, well-built man?

Cullen pulled several sovereigns from his pocket and handed them to the woman whose name he did not even care to know, her eyes growing wide as she began to protest. “Sir, this is far too mu-”

“Leave.”

“But-”

“I said leave,” he bellowed and she quickly scrambled to gather her clothes. Cullen could faintly hear the door open and close, lost as he was in his own thoughts. How had Elizabeth managed to crawl under his skin without him noticing? How had she managed to gain so much power over him? How had she managed to become the only thing his mind could think of, even when he was bedding another woman?

Cullen ran his hand through his sweat ridden locks, a heavy sigh leaving his body. She would marry Alistair, become Queen of Ferelden, and he would go back to being the Commander of the Inquisition, free to fuck any woman he wants.

Except for the one he _really wants._

\---

“Have you seen Cullen?” Elizabeth found her brother in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. The look on his face was sour and she guessed it may have had to do with his role of playing a servant. 

“Your Templar trash?” Michael countered. “I’m not his keeper.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, heavy strides leading her in the opposite direction of her room.

“Where are you going?” Michael called out.

“You’re not my keeper,” she retorted. 

Before Michael could follow, he was pulled along by one of the other servants to assist in cleaning the banquet hall. All the guests had retired for the night, no announcement of marriage had been made, and Cullen had disappeared shortly after their dance. Elizabeth had scanned the faces in the crowd several times looking for him, but the dashing Commander was no where to be found.

There was something important Elizabeth had to discuss with him, something she had to get off her chest before it consumed her. She chewed nervously on her bottom lip as she followed the path down the hall, around a corner, down another hall, before coming to a three way split. She stood there, reciting the _eeny meeny miny moe_ chant in her head. 

"Left it is." Just as she was about to take her first step, a familiar voice called out to her.

“Are we lost, Lady Trevelyan?” Alistair stood behind her, a gleeful smile gracing his noble features. She turned to face him.

“King Alistair,” she greeted calmly. “Where is Cullen’s room?” Short and to the point. She had no time to waste.

Alistair tsked with a raised brow. “Sneaking off for one last night of passion with your betrothed before you give yourself to me in the morning?”

Elizabeth was hardly in the mood for his silly antics. “I need to speak with him.” 

“I’m sure it could wait, love. Why not join me tonight? There’s much we have to discuss as soon to be husband and wife.” He circled her like a lion circles its prey, his tongue darting out as he licked his lips. “Perhaps you can give me a taste of what’s to come.”

“Do you ever get tired of that?” She sighed with annoyance.

“Of what? Wooing? Perish the thought!” A hearty laugh rumbled in his chest, bouncing off the castle walls and filling the hallway. His laugh shortly subsided when he noticed that she was not so amused. “You’re right. I have been laying it on rather thick, haven’t I? Forgive me. I’ll do better.” 

He cleared his throat and stood up straight. “My dear Lady, would you care to join me in my chambers for some tea and crumpets?”

As obnoxious as he could be, Alistair could also be funny. And charming. He managed to rise a giggle out of her but it was fleeting. Whatever it was that she needed to speak to Cullen about, it seemed important. “Please, Alistair, I need to talk to him.” 

The King’s face dropped slightly and he cast his eyes downward, avoiding her gaze. “Now’s probably not the best time, love.” He knew his friend better than anyone. Whenever something did not go Cullen’s way, he’d turn to drinking which usually resulted in nights of passion with questionable partners. Not that any of them were unattractive per se, but Alistair often wondered if his friend’s vision was lacking.

“What do you mean?” The perplexed look on her face pained him. It was obvious that this woman had feelings for Cullen, perhaps she may even love him. And while she searched the castle high and low for him, he was probably buried deep in some random harlot. 

But it was not his place to say anything of his friend’s escapades. “He’s… _busy._ ”

“Busy? With what?” How Alistair wished to shut that pretty mouth with his lips, to wipe her mind clean of thoughts of Cullen and fill them with only desire for him. But Alistair thought better of it as his trained ears picked up on the familiar thump of boots. It would be a shame for Cullen to walk in on them locked in a heated kiss.

“It’s probably best if he answers that question.” As if on cue, Elizabeth could faintly hear the heavy clang of boots against the floor from behind her, each step growing closer and closer. Alistair excused himself before Cullen rounded the corner. “I’ll leave the two of you to say your goodbyes. I await your decision tomorrow morning.”

Elizabeth nodded and watched as Alistair disappeared down the hallway before turning around to face the Commander. “Cullen, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

He looked worse for wear, his eyes sunken in, most of the beautiful amber overpowered by pitch black pupils. His hair was disheveled, carelessly combed through. His skin paler than usual, but scorching hot as Elizabeth reached out to grab his forearm.

“What do you need, Lady Trevelyan?” 

The sudden return of formal titles did not go unnoticed and Elizabeth felt a sharp tug at her heart. His harsh tone did not help the matter either. She pulled her hand back, “Are you alright, Cullen?”

“What. Do. You. Need.” Each word was forced between clenched teeth and Elizabeth suddenly felt uneasy. Where was this hostility coming from? He refused to make eye contact, keeping his gaze cast far off into the distance. 

“Are you drunk? How much have you had to drink?” Worry and irritation mingled in her tone, but ultimately worry won. There must have been a reason he got shit-faced. “Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

Cullen threw his head back in a sinister laugh before stepping closer and trapping her between the wall and his body, an arm on either side of her eliminating any path for escape. “I doubt you’d like to hear the story. So I’ll ask one last time: what do you want, Elizabeth?”

His tone, his demeanor, everything about him screamed that she should run away and forget about tonight. 

“Kiss me.”

There it was. Those two words had played over and over again in her mind from the moment she first saw him, but they were always kept at bay due to their unfavorable circumstance. Now they were free, breathing life into her desire to feel him - _any part of him_ \- against her own skin. 

Time stood still as pools of pale blue refused to let go of his honeyed eyes. She could hear her heartbeat and wondered if it was loud enough for even him to hear. She watched as his eyes darted between hers, down to her lips, and back up to meet her gaze. _”Please.”_

With an agonizingly slow pace, the Commander inched closer, dipping his head to level with her. His lips were so close that she could feel his breath against her skin, smell the strong liquor on his tongue. It excited her anew and she could no longer hold back as she closed the gap between them. 

Elizabeth could faintly feel his arms drop to her waist with all her attention focused on how _good_ his lips felt against hers. It wasn’t until his grip tightened that she was truly aware of where his hands were and the realization of it stirred passion in the pit of her stomach. How good his hands felt on her hips, locked tightly as if he were hanging on for life. She wished now that she had never worn the ridiculous, red gown. That instead she were nude and could feel the heat of his calloused hands against her bare skin. Her hands shot up, wrapping around his neck and pulling him deeper into the kiss.

In response to her eagerness, Cullen pushed her flush against the stone walls as his hands dropped down to her thighs, easily lifting her in his arms so that he would not have to strain down to kiss her. The sound of fabric tearing as he spread her legs to nestle himself between them was lost on both lovers. His tongue brushed against her delectable lips and without hesitation she parted them, their tongues quickly falling into a rhythm as if they had kissed each other a million times before. 

They were lost in their own world and it seemed like hours passed before either of them pulled back. It was Elizabeth who broke the kiss, much to Cullen’s dismay. He groaned his displeasure at the loss of her lips and quickly moved to capture them again but she pulled back once more.

“Cullen, please, _take me.”_

Was he dreaming? Was this some cruel figment of his imagination? Was this a desire demon, playing on his most carnal need for this woman? When he did not respond, she continued pleading, her voice more intoxicating than a siren’s call. “Please, Cullen. I need this, I need you. Make love to me. I need to know that this is real.” 

Maker be damned. It had to be a desire demon. 

She was practically begging him. Her pride long forgotton, but she had to know. Before she gave herself over to the King, she had to know if her feelings for Cullen were simply lust or something more. She had to feel him, _every part of him_ , in the most intimate of ways. Her heart was telling her that he was the one, the man that she could spend the rest of her life with, but her mind kept chalking it up to lust. If it was truly just lust, then one night with him would rid her of the constricting pain in her heart.

“Elizabeth,” Cullen began with a heavy sigh, his forehead meeting hers as he hung his head. “It’s not a good time.” He could still smell the woman he had just been with on him. He needed a long bath to rid himself of that distasteful stench.

“Do you..” she paused, biting her lip timidly. She was making herself more vulnerable by the minute. “Do you not find me attractive?”

“Do I find you att-” the rest of his remark died off on his tongue as he dropped his head in the crook of her neck, his chuckle vibrating against her skin. He planted slow, sensual kisses along her collarbone before pulling back to look at her. “You are the most infuriating woman the Maker has ever made. And I would worship the ground you walk on if only you’d let me.”

She felt her feet hit the ground as he released her, though his mouth was back on hers in short, sweet pecks between words. “You could not imagine how long I’ve wanted to do nothing more than take you to my bed. How I have longed to fill you, to bring your body to its peak and take you over the edge of climax, if only to render you immobile and senseless so that I could have a few moments of peace.”

That earned him a punch in the arm. Good, maybe this wasn’t a desire demon after all. A dream, perhaps. And if it was, he wished not to wake from it. 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“But you still want my cock buried deep inside of you,” he smirked, relishing in knowing her deepest desire for him. 

She huffed, “I just need one night to get you out of my system, that’s all.” Whatever romantic mood they had set was quickly dissipating. They were back to their bickering ways and both of them couldn’t help but smile. It felt so natural.

“And what would you know of fucking anyone out of your system? You’re untainted, my lady.” 

“That’s what you think,” she countered quickly.

“Is that so?” He inched closer again, his eyes locked onto her lips as she looked up at him with defiance. Oh how he would love to break her. “Then, if I was to do this,” unbeknownst to her his hand had slipped between the tear in her gown. A gasp escaped her lips as she felt his warm hand brush against her smalls, a deep red blush permeating her cheeks, and it was all the confirmation he needed. A feral growl emanated from him as his hand felt the damp fabric. She was wet. 

_“So fucking wet.”_ She tried to hide her face, embarrassed of the uncontrollable functions of her body, but his free hand shot up to her neck, wrapping tighty but comfortably around her air passage. “Is this for Alistair?” His voice had become dark, sinister and possessive. Why was this turning her on even more?

“Cullen-”

“Answer the question, Elizabeth,” he demanded. The alcohol was not helping his already possessive nature. _”Are you shamelessly dripping with need because of him?”_

“No,” she shot back, finding some small amount of courage to raise her head and meet his gaze. His eyes were burning with lust and she could feel herself getting lost in them. Fueled by the desire in his eyes, she pushed against his hand. The friction, the slightest brush of his hand against her sensitive bud, causing her to moan out his name. “It’s you. You’re the only one I want.”

His lips were back on hers instantly, easily overpowering her in the battle of dominance between their tongues. There was little that could hold him back now. The woman whom he had bickered with for weeks, dreamt of in his sleep, the woman whom he imagined while he fucked another was confessing - no, _begging_ , him to take her. She was slick with need for him and it took all he had not to rip her smalls off and take her at that very moment.

So lost were they in the heat of their kiss, hands frantically searching to grab at any part of their lover, that neither was privy to the figure that was approaching them from the shadows. Not until Cullen felt himself being pried off the petite woman, his body hurled back as a hard jab to the jaw sent him to his knees.

**“What the hell is going on here?!”**

Elizabeth’s eyes shot open the moment Cullen’s lips left hers, taking in the scene before her. To her left Cullen was hunched down, one knee bent as he held himself up, while his hand held his jaw in a feigned attempt to ease the pain. Blood was dripping from his mouth.

In front of her stood Michael, his face flushed red with anger. His chest heaved, his eyes frenzied. 

“Michael, what the hell-” her accusation was cut short, her voice hitching in her throat when his cold, murderous stare turned on her. Whoever this person was, it was not her brother.

Perhaps this was the murderer, the assassin in him. Was this what his victims saw before he snuffed the life out of them? Was this the last imagine before their dying breath?

“That was a cheap shot, apostate,” Cullen remarked as he stood up, straightening out his attire. He was not in his military clothes, his sword far out of reach in the confines of his chamber, but he would take on the assassin nonetheless if that is what he wished. “But I suppose a man of meager stature would have to attack another with his back turned if he was to gain any sort of advantage.”

“I’m going to rip your tongue out, scum,” Michael’s voice was terror incarnate, “and feed it to you before I slit your throat.”

“You can try,” Cullen smirked. “I doubt you would get very far before every bone in your body was broken.”

In a instant, Michael lunged at the older man, his daggers drawn and ready to kill. Cullen, unarmed, made attempts to block Michael’s swings, but cuts began to color his forearm. He was still rather intoxicated and perhaps not in the best state of mind to fight a deadly assassin. He could faintly hear Elizabeth as she screamed for them to stop.

The blades were coming faster now, inching closer and closer to his jugular vein as he feebly dodged the attacks, stumbling backwards before regaining composure. Just as he had stumbled, a distraction that would have been his doom, Michael’s dagger, swift and deadly, swooped down for the kill, but repelled off as a green film formed around the ex-Templar.

_“Stop!!”_ The sound of her voice, high pitched and panicked, caused both men to turn towards her. Her eyes were closed, afraid that if she opened them she would see Cullen’s lifeless body. Seconds ticked by and all she could hear was the deafening beat of her heart.

Slowly she opened them, pools of vivid blue glistening with tears. Cullen was on the floor, supporting himself up on his elbow. Michael stood above him, his dagger thrown haphazardly across the hall. Both men looked at her with pained expressions. 

“Michael,” she began, looking at the bright green, translucent film that had formed around Cullen. Confusion colored her tone. “Why did you cast a barrier spell?”

Maker there had never been words that pierced his heart, that broke him, like the ones he was about to utter. His heart shattered into pieces, knowing full well what his little sister was about to endure.

“That wasn’t me, Liz.”

\---

The King’s guards had arrived shortly after, finding all three individuals rendered motionless and incapable of forming anything remotely coherent. All three were escorted to their respective rooms, although King Alistair summoned Cullen to speak with regarding what transpired. 

“What the hell happened out there, Cullen? Brawling with an assassin while unarmed and under the influence? Surely you knew better.”

Cullen shrugged, pressing the cold cloth against his swollen jaw. The coolness was lost on him, the pain a faint throb compared to what his mind was going through. Elizabeth’s magic manifested, saved his life. And yet he hated her for it. She was a mage.

“Why were you fighting anyway?” Alistair questioned again, pacing back and forth in his study as he watched the Commander sulk on the exquisite, regal couch. “Damn it, Cullen. Talk to me!” 

The King stopped in his tracks as Cullen stood up, tossing the bloody rag onto the wooden table. The reflection of the hearth burned in his amber eyes as he stared into it, images of what had happened at the Circle in Kinloch Hold flashing in his mind. He had never truly been able to forgive and forget what happened that day.

“The marriage between you and Lady Trevelyan will be announced tomorrow. She will remain here. I will return to Skyhold and inform the Inquisitor.”

Alistair was taken aback, finding the sudden change in his comrade disconcerting. Cullen was not one to easily give up his conquest. “Cullen, what happened?”

It was not something Cullen wished to discuss. He wanted to forget all about her, to leave and never see her again. Yet every time he closed his eyes all he could see was her. Her shy smile. Her vivid eyes that paled in comparison to the clearest of skies. 

His fists clenched in agony as he willed his body to move, turning away from his trusted friend. He left without another word, intent on setting out before dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in game Cullen is not against banging a mage, but damn it I need drama. Just when they were getting on each other’s good side and sort of confessing some feels. *le sigh
> 
> I so wanted to go the him telling her he just fucked some random ho route. She would get mad, slap him, and run into the welcoming arms of Alistair. Cullen would return to serve the Inquisition, pained every day by thoughts of Elizabeth as she was the one that got away. Years later after the Inquisition disbanded, he would be called into service for the King as his Commander and would see that Elizabeth had grown only more beautiful. A forbidden love affair would ensue until Alistair found out but then he would allow Elizabeth to continue sleeping with the Commander as long as he could watch and eventually join in on some juicy threesome goodness. And they would live happily ever after.
> 
> But then I thought...nah, that’s tew much. Or is it?
> 
> ;)
> 
> Finally got to reveal why Varric nicknamed her Stormheart. “More than meets the eye,” remember? Our little Lizzy is a mage! Woot woot! Only took me like two years >.>


	13. The Woman Who Would be Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter spans over a few days, going back and forth between Denerim and Skyhold. Because I'm trash and lazy af >.<

“What do you mean he left?” If she had managed to get even an ounce of sleep last night, regain any sort of energy, she would have been furious. But she was exhausted and the dark circles under her eyes were a testament to that. She was dazed as she spoke, as if her body was present but her mind entirely elsewhere.

“Commander Cullen regrets that he could not have been here to formally congratulate us once the announcement is made. Whatever business required his attention in Skyhold seemed quite urgent. He set out before dawn, accompanied by your brother.”

“Congratulate us?” But she had not made her choice.

No. _She did._

And Alistair was not her choice.

But it seemed that fate had different plans for her.

“On our marriage, love.” Alistair filled in, his crooked smile attempting to make light of the situation. 

Echos of the conversation she had overheard that day in Skyhold replayed in her mind. _“He saw his fellow Templars slaughtered at the hands of mages who had been given too much freedom. It's only natural that he would hate such creatures.”_

He left her. She confessed her feelings, her need for him, and he left her. She was a mage now, a creature he despised more than anything else in the world. “I doubt your people would be keen on having a mage for a Queen.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Alistair looked dumbfounded. He stood before her, tall with shoulders squared, hazel eyes dancing with curiosity. 

“My magic manifested last night, or did he forget to mention that?” The disgust in her voice was thick. “That is why he left, is it not?” Tears were beginning to blur her vision and a heavy lump formed in her throat. She bit her lip.

“Magic?” Alistair trailed, as if everything was becoming clear to him, seemingly unfazed by her revelation. “That would explain his demeanor.”

Elizabeth dropped her gaze to the floor, her eyes burning holes into the marbled tile of Alistair’s room. She felt his hand rest on her shoulder, the other cupping her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “Mage or not, I will not cast you aside. I’ve spent a fair share of time with mages. The Hero of Ferelden was a mage, if you recall. There was also this dreadful witch, but she shall not be brought up.” He paused, hoping to get even a faint smile out of her, but there was none. “What I am trying but failing to say is that being a mage is not the end of the world. And it most certainly will not make me think less of you.”

Her eyes darted between his beautiful hazel orbs, her lip ever so slightly quivering. She was on the verge of tears and sensing this, Alistair pulled her into a tight embrace.

“If you wish to mask your magic, I will support you however I can. If you wish to practice it, to learn it and master it, then I will find the most skilled mage and appoint him to Court to mentor you. I truly meant that your every desire would be sated, you just have to tell me what your heart wishes.”

Her mind was in pieces, her heart pulled in a million directions. Just the night before, Cullen offered her freedom in the form of marriage. A sacrifice on his behalf just to see her happy. She realized then that she could not take his offer. Elizabeth could not bear the thought of never seeing him again. She realized that she was, in fact, _in love with him._

And here was Alistair, offering that same freedom in another form. Where Cullen had abandoned her, Alistair stood by her. Perhaps because he had more to gain from the marriage than he stood to lose, but the thought that he would stand by her side, mage or not, resonated with her.

“I know you love him,” Alistair continued, “any fool could see that. These are not ideal circumstances for me, either. But in time, I hope, you can grow to love me, too. I will treat you like a Queen, _my Queen._ Any wish you may have will be grated, so long as it is in my power to do so.”

She buried her face in his chest, her hands desperately clutching at the regal fabric he wore. Exquisite velvet that she had only ever seen in Orlais. “I do not have much of a choice.”

Alistair sighed, his heart heavy with guilt. “I’m afraid not, love. Mages are not looked upon favorably at the moment, regardless of their relation to the Inquisitor. I can protect you, but only while you are at my side.”

 _Maxwell could protect me,_ the thought sounded foolish even to her. Maxwell would cast her aside just as he had Michael. She would be shunned, erased from the family tree and sent to the nearest Circle once the current threat was over.

Just when she had been ready to make a decision of her own, fate dealt her a new hand. And this truly seemed to be her only option. 

\---

“Marrying the King?!” Maxwell paced the war room, his hands raking through dark locks as he made attempts to grasp the situation. “You mean to tell me that I sent my little sister with you for this little loyalty-to-Ferelden mission of yours and you marry her off to the King?!”

“She made her choice, Inquisitor.” Cullen’s blood began to boil at the accusations the Inquisitor was throwing at him, but he bit his tongue. 

“This is unbelievable,” heaved Maxwell.

“I must agree,” Josephine interjected. “Lady Trevelyan marrying the King of Ferelden clearly tips the Inquisition’s loyalty in favor of Ferelden. Empress Celine will not let this go unchallenged.”

“Of course she won’t,” Leliana agreed. “But she is powerless to do much of anything. She still sits on her throne because of the Inquisition. She will not break those ties.”

“The people of Orlais will demand a show of loyalty as well,” added the Antivan.

The Nightingale snickered, “We could always throw the Commander at them. He is their favorite.”

Cullen was not in the mood for their antics and it seemed that Maxwell had even less patience for them. “Josephine, Leliana. If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to talk to Cullen alone please.”

Both women nodded somberly, all traces of jest eradicated by the Inquisitor’s harsh tone. Once the door to the war room closed behind them, Maxwell turned his attention back to his Commander.

“What the hell happened, Cullen? Don’t give me this silent bullshit. You just left my little sister in the hands of Denerim, the least you can do is tell me what in the bloody fade happened.”

Cullen shrugged. “He offered her a marriage with conditions that she apparently found favorable.”

“You’re leaving out pretty important chunks of the story, Templar.” Michael, who had been tied down to a chair in the corner with rope, and a magical incantation by Dorian just in case, interjected on the matter.

Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Could Dorian not find a spell to bind his mouth shut?”

Cullen had spent the entire ride back to Skyhold listening to the assassin go on and on about how he would kill him for touching his beloved sister. Now his voice was just background noise, a static buzz that only annoyed him when he paid attention. 

“Michael, as I have yet to decide what the hell to do with you, do shut up before that big mouth of yours lands you in the gallows.”

“Tell him, Templar,” Michael continued, ignoring his older brother’s demands. “Tell him how you practically took our little sister’s innocence in the castle hallway.” Michael’s eyes burned with hate.

“With all due respect, _your sister did beg for it.”_ Okay, so maybe he should have held that back, but his mind was worn and he wanted nothing more than to hit the sheets. This was a sure way to get sent from the Inquisitor’s sight. 

Maxwell, who now stared at the Commander in disbelief, stood dumbfounded with his mouth agape. Did he just hear him correctly? Was this Cullen, the reserved and polite Commander of the Inquisition? Instead of being furious and wasting his energy, Maxwell calmly excused the Commander from the war room, making a mental note to deal with him later. First, he had to take care of his little brother and find out why the hell he decided to show up after so many years of fleeing as an apostate.

\--- 

Alistair’s advisor paced the room, panic stricken as his King revealed the conditions that Lady Trevelyan set. “Abolish Tranquillity? Sire, we simply cannot do that. The citizens of this country would be in an uproar.”

Alistair sat at his desk, his head resting in the palm of his hand while the other twirled a quill between his fingers. “Those were the terms I agreed to. See to it that your King does not have to go back on his word.” With a curt wave of his hand, Alistair dismissed the older man. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Reluctantly the other man excused himself, bowing at the waist before leaving the King’s study. The quick, labored pace of his steps told Alistair that he has overstepped his power once again, but he could care less. 

He hated himself for even doing any of this. Asking her to marry him when it was clear that she loved another. But there was little else he could do so long as the Inquisition remained so powerful.

Perhaps they could grow to love one another. 

One day.

\---

“Magic? Are you sure?”

Michael rolled his eyes, “If you have forgotten, brother, _I am a mage_. I’m fairly certain I know a barrier spell when I see one.”

“Watch your tone before I have have you bound and thrown off the ramparts,” Maxwell threatened. He was weary from his travels. All hopes of retiring and locking himself up with Cassandra for a few days dissipated the moment his younger brother walked through the gates. His presence a clear give-away that something was wrong.

“You have to go get her, Max,” Michael pleaded.

“Get her?” Maxwell chuckled, mocking his brother. “And how do you suppose I do that? _Oh, forgive me, King Alistair but I’m just here to collect my sister. Please retract the announcement that the two of you are to be wed.”_

Michael stared at him, pondering deep in thought. “You are the Inquisitor...that could work.”

“You were there, why did you not _get her?_ ”

Michael crossed his arms, sneering as if he spoke of his mortal enemy. “That damn Templar used Holy Smite on me.”

“And you were too weak to resist?”

“Obviously,” scoffed the younger Trevelyan brother. 

“Why are you here, Michael?” Maxwell sighed heavily, changing the subject before his rage got the better of him. He would hate to beat Michael to a bloody pulp less than twenty-four hours after being reunited. 

“I’ve come to join your Inquisition,” he stated matter-of-factly and Maxwell almost choked on the very air he breathed.

“Join the Inquisition? You? An apostate and a murder for hire?” Maxwell shook his head in disbelief. “We are not the Crows, little brother. We do not just take any trash that the wind carries in.” Years had passed and Maxwell was still as hostile towards his brother as the day he had left, the day he abandoned his family for the life of an apostate. A criminal.

“Whatever our differences, you need all the help you can get. And I need a way to atone for my actions.”

\---

“Invitations are being prepared as we speak, my King. Preparations for the wedding have begun. We must have the tailor start on your attire and Lady Trevelyan’s dress if he is to get it done in time for the wedding.” Edgar, Alistair’s key diplomat and advisor, held a quill in on hand and a scroll in the other as he went through the list of wedding to-do’s. 

“And where is my Queen?” Alistair questioned as he scanned the throne room. Servants were scurrying about, having been given such short notice of the imminent wedding. It seemed that their King was a spur-of-the-moment kind of man. 

“Forgive me, my King. Lady Trevelyan does not feel well and has forbidden castle staff from entering her room. She has yet to even allow us to bring her food.”

“Well,” Alistair huffed, “that won’t do. Bring me a platter of fruits and cheeses. And bread. Oh, and wine.”

\---

She groaned as the knocking persisted at her door. She remained silent, hoping that whoever was there would just be taken by the void. Elizabeth covered her head with her pillow in hopes of drowning out the noise. But the sound of a key turning caught her attention and Elizabeth quickly sat up in her bed, fuming. “What part of ‘I don’t want to be bothered’ do you people not under - _oh, Alistair._ ”

“A little birdie told me that my already petite wife-to-be was refusing to eat,” he spoke naturally, strolling into her room with a causal air about him. In one hand he carried a large silver platter and in the other a bottle of what she assumed to be red wine. She was suddenly aware of her half naked form, heat warming her body as she pulled the covers closer. “And I thought, ‘ _Surely she’s not purposefully missing her meals. My little warrior would not let her strength diminish, she needs food to fuel her fighting spirit if she’s to survive the grueling training that awaits her._ ’”

“Are you mocking me?” she accused, recalling their conversation. She had chosen to practice her magic, to learn her craft and put it to good use. The condition being that Alistair would let her fight at his side if he were called to war. 

“On the contrary, love,” he set the platter filled to the rim with various fruits, cheeses, nuts, figs, and bread rolls next to her bed. The bottle of wine remained in his hands as he proceeded to uncork it. “I’m ensuring that the woman who plans to fight at my side is capable of having my back.” The bottle _popped_ open as the cork flew off, startling the young woman. As if on cue, her stomach rumbled rather loudly.

Alistair chuckled, but did not speak as he set down the wine in favor of a slice of apple, taking a seat next to her. Slowly, he brought the crisp slice to her mouth, brushing the fruit against her lips when she refused to part them. “Open wide.” Oh the images his mind conjured up at those words. If he had his way, it would not be slices of apple he would pop into that hot, little mouth of hers.

“I can feed myself,” she argued and moved to grab the slice from his hands, but he pulled back quickly.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he smiled mischievously at her. “I have come to take care of my Queen.” Elizabeth watched as he placed a third of the slice between his own lips before bringing his head down and offering it to her. Despite her best efforts, she blushed.

If she had not been so hungry, she would have protested and demanded that she feed herself. But she was famished. Elizabeth moved forward, her mouth open in anticipation of taking a bite of the apple. Their eyes never broke contact as she closed her mouth around it, the sound of it breaking off as she bit down far _too loud_ in the still of the room. Their lips brushed against one another, soft and supple. He pulled back slightly, watching as she timidly chewed the fruit, his own piece quickly gulped down.

“Beautiful,” he breathed as his free hand stroked her porcelain cheek, his eyes glazing over. “The most beautiful creature, hand-crafted to perfection by the Maker himself.”

She blushed again, deeper this time as she tried to pull away, but found that her body would not respond to her brain. 

“May I kiss you, my Lady?” His voice had become more serious. Not dark and possessive like Cullen’s, but light and sensual. His thumb continued to stroke her burning cheek, the coolness of his touch providing some relief from the heat. Her eyes were transfixed on his and she did not notice as he moved closer, lingering just out of touch as he awaited her consent. “If you are not ready,” he trailed but was quickly silenced by her mouth on his. 

As much as she tried not to, she could only imagine kissing Cullen. How he would possessively pin her against the bed and take her very breath away with his kisses. She imagined him running his hands all over her body, tearing away the flimsy fabric of her nightgown and devouring her. She began to eagerly kiss him back, her mind continually trying to tell her that this was Alistair and not Cullen.

She rose from her position, never breaking the kiss, as she cupped his face with both hands, straddling him. As she lowered herself onto his lap, she could feel his hard member throbbing beneath her, begging to be released. Their kiss deepened as their tongues danced in rhythm. Her right hand left his cheek in favor of trailing down his toned chest and down to his rock hard cock. Without warning she grasped him, gasping into the kiss at the feel of how _thick_ he was. Alistair smirked as he pulled her hand back, breaking the kiss.

She was breathless.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, love,” he teased. 

The thought pained her. She would lose her virginity to Alistair, sooner or later. After all, what was a marriage without intimacy? Alistair was not a bad man and she knew, given the time, that she could grow fond of him, live a happy life by his side. But her heart would be left to always wonder _what if._

She shuddered, her blue eyes pleading with the King. “Make me forget him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm….


	14. Make Me Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light smut ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it lay or lie? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Lay back,” his voice was a breathless whisper, her body following his command of its own accord. He stood up, towering over her as she pushed herself further back against the plush sheets of the bed. Blue eyes darkened with lust as she watched him untie his breeches, her heart beating faster with each slow, agonizing pull of string.

“I will not take you tonight, is that clear?”

Her eyes shot up. His features had darkened, the carefree smile replaced by a calculating smirk. His eyes were pitch black, peering at her through narrowed slits. Why, she wanted to ask, but her voice was lost to her as Alistair pulled his cotton shirt over his head.

Maker, he was a sight to behold. Years of fighting left him toned, defined. She followed the curve of each muscle in his abdomen, etching it into memory. She longed to run her hands along those abs, to feel him flex underneath her touch.

And the scars. They riddled his body, crafting a beautiful painting of heroism and sacrifice. She wished to trace every scar with her lips, to run her tongue along each cicatrix. 

“Is that clear?” He spoke, more demanding now, impatience coloring his tone.

“W - why?” She stammered. Her body was beginning to tremble with a need she had not felt before, not even with Cullen. It was carnal. A deep desire to have him rip her clothes off and fuck her till her body could take no more. To punish her, break her.

“Because you are not fully mine yet,” he stated, his body inching closer, crawling on top of her until his arm rested by her head, propping him up to keep most of his weight off her. She looked fragile, after all. “I will not take you until your mind is wholly mine. Until my name is the only thing that spills from your lips. Until all you can think of is me: the touch of my hands against your soft skin, the feel of my tongue against your breasts, my mouth on your _lips._ ”

Her head rolled back, her eyes closing instinctively as his lips found her neck. Hot, wet kisses seared her skin with a heat so hot that it was blinding her. Her hands shot up, grasping at his dark blonde hair, a silent urge that she wanted more. _Needed more._

“Alistair,” she breathed, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. 

“Yes,” he purred, smirking against her skin, _“just like that.”_

Maker, his voice was driving her wild. Deep and dark, full of promise to see her come undone. Like magic, a spell of some sort that heighten her senses, made her feel more, want more.

He allowed her to keep her hands tangled in his hair, relishing as she pulled and tugged at his locks, wanting release but unsure how to find it. _Defiant to ask for it._

It mattered not. She would soon be shamelessly begging him for it. 

His hands, a cool breeze against her scorching hot skin, pulled at the straps of her nightgown, pushing the fabric down her shoulders, her arms, and under her elbows, exposing her erect nipples to the cool air.

She shivered beneath him, not from the cold. No, her body was on fire, every inch burning with a need to feel him there - anywhere and everywhere. 

Her hands dropped to cover herself, an instinct that seemed to displease him. He pushed her hands away, pining them at her sides as he growled. “Never hide your beautiful body from me again, understood? It is mine to worship, to look upon, to do with as I please.”

Unable to find her voice, all Elizabeth could do was nod. Her blush, her shame, only intensified as she felt him drop his head lower, his mouth brushing against her swollen buds as he lingered just out of touch. Her breasts were smaller than what he was used to.

A slow, torturous lick welcomed her, enveloped her mind and her body arched in response. Her took her nipple into his mouth, suckling with white hot fervor. She moaned his name, withering beneath him, unable to move, unable to reach out and touch him.

He grazed the sensitive bud between his teeth, biting down just enough for her to feel a delicious jolt of pain before he soothed it again with a sensual suck. It was driving her mad with desire.

He pulled back, the loss of his mouth on her nipples causing her to look down at him. Their eyes locked, her breath hitching at the sight of his delectable tongue only centimeters from her swollen, dark bud. “I would see your breasts swell,” he breathed against her skin, the coolness of his breath against her wet nipple making her delirious with want. “Full and heavy with milk as you nursed my child.”

“Alistair -” she called out to him, pleading, begging. _“Please.”_

“Is that what you want, my Queen?” he purred as his mouth claimed her other nipple, giving it the same attention. “Do you wish to have me spill my seed deep into your belly, fill you night and night again until my seed took root and you swelled with my child?”

“Maker - yes! Alistair, _please!_ ” she began to squirm against him and he smirked, releasing her arms and allowing her to dig her nails into his back and she pushed him closer into her.

But he would not take her.

Instead, his hand trailed down her flat stomach, further down her milky white thighs until he reached her damp underclothes, slick with want. “So wet for me, and we’re barely even started.” He chuckled darkly, enjoying the rise he got out of her. _“I want to taste you, my Queen.”_

Maker, he was trying to kill her with third degree burns. She closed her eyes, biting her lip as a sudden wave of nervousness washed over her. She had never done anything like this before and here he was spewing sinful promises that would have any Maker-fearing woman blush.

“I want to make you come with my mouth, tonight and every night so that you can taste yourself on my tongue every time I kiss you.” He brought his face next to hers, whispering in her ear as his hand continued to toy with her cunt, teasingly brushing against her throbbing need with the lightest of caresses. “Tell me you want my mouth on your clit,” his breath was hot against her ear, “tell me you want my tongue inside you, licking you, tasting you.”

She couldn't. No, she couldn't bring herself to say such lewdness. Noticing this, Alistair pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing her sensitive pearl with painfully slow circles. The friction of her cotton smalls was bothersome. She wanted to feel his bare hands.

 _“Tell me_.” He demanded again. 

“Alistair, I -”

“You what, love?”

“I need you.” 

His touch became harder, heavier, reprimanding her. The feeling of fabric against her sensitive bud was not pleasant, but Alistair continued to draw lazy circles around her, ensuring that she felt just enough pleasure to beg for more, but not enough to come undone.

There was only one way to reach her climax. And that was bending to his will. “Tell me what I want to hear, Elizabeth. I can do this all night.” 

It was torture. He was intent on breaking her out of her shell, even if he had to spend the next five days and nights doing so, without pause. “Open your eyes, Elizabeth, and _tell me.”_

“Fuck, Alistair,” she cursed and he could only smirk as his eyes caught those pools of azure. “I want you. I need your tongue on my clit, _please._ Please, I want to come for you, my King.”

“Good girl,” he praised with a low chuckle, beginning his decent to her delicacy with a trail of soft kisses down her lithe body. Every kiss her, set her on fire, the heat pooling between her legs.

Maker, how much more could she endure?

\---

Cullen had busied himself with the training of new recruits, something he usually left to Rylen. But Cullen needed something, anything, to do to keep his mind off her.

“Since when has the mighty Commander dirtied his hands with new recruits?” 

He groaned at her presence. If there was one person who could read him like an open book, it was Leliana. “Rylen is busy.”

“Oh?” She quirked a dainty brow, donning a feigned expression of surprise. “ _Busy getting drunk in the Tavern?”_

Cullen shrugged, hoping to dismiss the Nightingale with his curt reply. “I gave him the day off.”

Leliana chuckled, that irritating, high pitched laugh that told him she already knew everything. “We received an invitation from Denerim this morning. Alistair and Elizabeth are to be wed in a fortnight.” 

He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth to keep his temper under control. “And why does that concern me?”

“Because another letter arrived shortly after,” Leliana spoke slowly, her eyes cast out into the makeshift training ground where two recruits were attempting to tackle one another down. “Addressed only to you.”

Cullen refused to look at her, refused to play into her tricks and games. “Donovan, dodge damn it! The enemy is not lunging in for a hug.” Maker’s breath, why was he putting himself through this torture? There was a reason Cullen delegated recruit training to Rylen: _because he didn't want to fucking deal with them._

Leliana, with that insufferable smirk never faltering, turned to look at her fellow advisor. “The letter is on your desk, should you wish to read it.”

“Or you could just summarize the highlights, as I'm sure you've already read it.”

She giggled, “Now that would spoil all the fun, Commander.”

\---

Elizabeth awoke in the middle of the night still nestled comfortably against Alistair’s chest. His right arm was wrapped around under her, her leg draped over his as her head rested on his chest, the steady beat of his heart drumming in her ears.

He had given her so much pleasure tonight, yet not allowed her to return the favor. _There is time enough for that later, love,_ he had told her. It felt selfish, coming again and again by his mouth and hand yet never giving him release.

And she knew he needed it. His hard cock had brushed against her thigh several times, each time more swollen than the last. When he had completely satisfied her, rendered her body limp and unable to move, he took himself in hand, pumping hard and fast as he made her watch.

 _Look at me, love,_ he had demanded. _Look how hard you've made me. Do you see how much my cock throbs for you?_

It hadn't taken him long to reach climax, worked up as he was, his thick seed shooting out in between ragged breaths. She could still feel the stickiness of his come on her stomach. 

“Is everything alright, love?”

She looked up to meet his gaze, his hazel eyes barely able to stay open as he nuzzled his face in her bed of black locks. He kissed the side of her temple, pulling her closer to him. 

“Yes,” she lied, snuggling closer to him, every fiber of her being wishing that it was Cullen’s body instead.

\---

> _  
> Cullen Stanton Rutherford!_
> 
> _How kind of you to inform your **family** of your engagement. The town has been running amok with rumors that you are marrying in less than a week’s time. Turns out those were not rumors after all. Sister Leliana has confirmed your engagement._
> 
> _Were you not planning to invite us to your wedding, dear brother? I want to be angry with you, but I am forcing myself to believe that you are just so busy with work that an engagement simply slipped your mind. Because you would invite your family, wouldn't you?_
> 
> _Regardless, Rosalie and I are coming to meet our new sister. We would arrive by the end of the week, just in time for the wedding._
> 
> _We look forward to seeing to, dearest brother._
> 
> _Love,_  
>  Mia  
>    
> 

Cullen crumpled the letter, tossing it into the fire, wishing he could throw himself in as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update for the week. Hubby is back to work tomorrow which means full on mommy duties for me T-T 
> 
> Save meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee


	15. Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell is finally fed up with his mother's shit.  
> Alistair teaches Elizabeth how to conjure her magic.  
> Cullen is plagued by visions.
> 
>  
> 
> And Lizzy gets a few fireballs thrown at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby has been good today so here's another update. Yay baby!  
> xD

Whatever hopes Maxwell had of keeping the news from his mother were crushed when the letters began to arrive. First the invitation from King Alistair, then a letter from his father, and several from noble houses back home congratulating _him_ on such a high achievement - he would be brother-in-law to a King, as if saving Thedas from the threat of Corypheus was not enough. 

“My daughter! A Queen!” Eleanor practically waltzed about the room, swaying her body to silent music. “Oh Maxwell, do you know what this means?” She stopped to look at her eldest, her face bright and her eyes brighter. 

Maxwell sat at his desk, massaging his temple as he contemplated throwing himself over the balcony and down the bottomless pit of abyss that surrounded Skyhold. In his other hand was a letter from one of Leliana’s contacts in Orlais, a young Bard in mock service to the Empress. 

The letter spoke of the uprising within the Court. All of Celine’s advisors were urging her to wage war, to demand the Inquisition rescind this offer of marriage before drastic measures would be taken. Rumors of hired assassins and poisoned wedding gifts were running rampant.

“Mother, _please._ ” This was nothing to be excited over and he could tell Eleanor was on the verge of bursting. A heavy sigh escaped him, the throbbing in his head growing louder. Why was he always left to clean up everyone's messes?

“Maxwell, this means our family lineage is changing! Elizabeth's children will be of royal blood and the Trevelyans will forever be known as royalty. Distant, but royalty nonetheless." She was beside herself and it only served to further anger the young leader. He bit his tongue between his teeth, his hands beginning to tremble with anger. “Oh, how jealous the women back home will be. I am to be the mother of a Queen.” 

It was the last straw. Maxwell stood forcefully, the sheer will of his anger sending his chair flying back. He was faintly aware of his actions, of his words. It was as if he had no control over his body.

“Pray, mother, that your Queen lives long enough to see her wedding.” 

Eleanor stopped dead in her tracks, her nose scrunched up as she huffed, “What is that supposed to mean, young man?”

“It means,” he began, rounding his desk and approaching his mother like a lion approaches its meal, “that you sent my little sister to her death. Orlais is ready to wage war and my innocent sister is caught in the middle of all this because you had to throw her at the Commander. You had to bring her here and play her like a pawn.”

“Maxwell Theodore Trevelyan! Where in the Maker’s name is this coming from?” Eleanor's skin had paled as she watched her son, his eyes black with hate. Her loving son, the only one who ever listened to her, looked upon her now with disgust.

“You forced her to come here and marry a man almost old enough to be her father! What kind of a mother are you!” 

His cheek stung as he felt her hand collide with it. It was faint, an annoying gnaw in comparison of what turmoil was raging in his heart. Elizabeth could already be dead for all he knew. 

He watched as Eleanor's eyes grew wide, wrinkles forming on her preserved face at the feel of her son’s hands around her neck, restricting her air. He couldn't control himself, whether because of rage or his own secret desire he did not know. 

Time ticked by and the fire in his eyes only intensified, Eleanor’s reflection burning in them. Her hands moved up to cover his, clawing, pleading for release. But he would not let up.

Not yet.

This was all her fault.

Since childhood, it was all her fault. All her doing. They were pawns to her, pieces she moved in whatever direction would benefit her. And if she saw no benefit, then she would cast them aside, much like she had Michael. 

And now his precious, little sister. The woman he had sworn to protect. Countless times he and Michael had gotten into fights because of her, fighting any and every man that looked at her for more than ten seconds. She was their little sister, their pride and joy, and no man would get his filthy hands on her so long as they both lived.

Except it wasn't men they had to worry about. It was their own mother.

Maxwell finally released his hold, coming back to his senses. He could not trust himself with her, the desire to snap her neck still tingling on his fingertips. “I will have my men escort you back to Ostwick first thing tomorrow morning. I never want to see you again after that.”

\---

It had been a week since Cullen left. Elizabeth and Alistair were falling into a comfortable routine. She would train with the Court Mage early in the morning while he watched, his eyes hungrily taking in her composed form. Breakfast would be served in his room, which they mostly ate in bed as he peppered kisses along her bare body. His attention would be called to the war room after, busy with meetings while she wandered the halls of the castle, taking in the beauty of the craftsmanship. They would pass each other frequently in the halls and each time he would pull her into a deep kiss, much to his advisors dismay. 

They would eat lunch separately, although not by choice as Alistair had revealed. He spent most of his afternoon buried in meetings and paperwork so that his evenings and nights and mornings could be devoted solely to her. 

Dinner would be served in the dining hall, where Alistair would whisper sweet, sinful promises of what he would do to her body that night. It would always distract her, her food remaining almost untouched. In moments like these, Cullen was a distant memory.

It was the morning of the eight day since she last saw Cullen, not that Elizabeth was counting or anything. Alistair did a good job of keeping her mind busy, keeping her focus on him, but every now and again her mind would slip, wondering what he was doing. 

“Focus, Lady Trevelyan.” 

Her body jerked ever so slightly, her eyes blinking rapidly as she willed her mind back to the present. From her peripheral she could see Alistair leaning back in his chair, an amused smirk playing on his lips. Did he know? Could be read her mind? Could he tell that her thoughts had wandered back to the Commander? His smirk was unreadable, the glint in his eyes striking a bolt of anxiety in the pit of her belly.

“Are you feeling well, love?” Oh, _he knew._ That snicker in his tone gave him away, telling her the silent tale of what he would do to her tonight, how he would punish her by withholding her release for thinking of _him_.

Admittedly, Alistair was not jealous. In fact, he enjoyed this, enjoyed the challenge of breaking her, making her forget every man before him, and molding her anew. Alistair had yet to fully take her, though she begged for it. She wasn't ready. Not until every waking moment, every dream she had, consisted of him. Only then would he claim her completely. 

Elizabeth cleared her throat, her attention fixed on the mage in front of her. “I'm fine,” she dismissed, squinting her eyes as she tried to focus her mana, her hands stretched out in front of her. Deep violet static flickered on the tips of her fingers, but quickly died down. She had not been able to manifest her magic for more than a mere second. Yet the barrier that she had cast around Cullen lasted several minutes.

She groaned, frustrated that another morning proved to be unsuccessful. Her mentor sighed, reprimanding her yet again. “My Lady, you cannot force your magic out. Frustration will only block it. You must let go, feel it flow through your body and channel it.”

_Easier said than done, you prick._ Those are the words she wanted to utter, but thought better of it. It wasn't his fault that she sucked at magic. Instead, she took a deep, calming breath, closing her eyes as she tried to _feel_ her magic.

What she felt, however, were a pair of familiar hands snaking around her waist, stubble brushing against her ear as Alistair whispered, “ _How about I give it a try?”_

She blushed and Eldric, the senior mage, stammered. “My King, I don't think-”

“You are dismissed.” Alistair’s tone was curt, leaving no room for argument. Eldric gathered his books and staff and quickly left the room, all the while shaking his head in disbelief.

Elizabeth dropped her hands, turning to look at Alistair before he stopped her, forced her back flush against his chest, tilting her head forward. “Close your eyes, love.” His breath was hot, a tingle at her ear that sent shockwaves of pleasure down her spine. 

She obliged, allowing him full control of her body and mind. “Put your hands out in front of you like this,” as he spoke, Alistair pulled her hands up, running his own over her delicate arms, her slender shoulders, down the sides of her petite torso, before settling on her soft, luscious hips. Her body trembled under his touch.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he demanded, his hand pulling her loose, dark hair to the side to expose her colored neck where he had left several marks. Marks that spoke of their nights of passion, marks that she kept covered with her long hair out of shame. 

She had cast her barrier without any control that night, driven by fear that the man she loved would die before her eyes. It was obvious to Alistair that her magic stemmed from her feelings, her thoughts and senses, and not from sheer focus alone. She needed a reason, _a why_ , for her magic to work. 

“Do you know why you are here, love?” 

Confused, Elizabeth tried to turn to look at him, but he forced her to stay in place, reminding her again to keep her eyes closed and her hands held out.

He continued. “Because _he_ left you. Your heart still aches for him, for his touch. I can feel it every night as I bring you pleasure, that you wish it was his tongue caressing you instead of mine.” She felt his cool lips against her skin, his head nestled in the crook of her neck. “You can see yourself with him. Beautiful, little children with golden locks running about as the two of you grew old together.”

Alistair’s words painted a picture in her bead, and Elizabeth soon felt herself drift away. 

“Quiet mornings out in the country, drinking coffee together as you watched your children play. He would pull you into his arms, tell you how much he loved you, how happy you made him, and how he wished to put another babe in your belly. He would make love to you every night, kiss every inch of your body, make you scream his name as you came.”

She could see it, even with her eyes closed. She could see herself in bed, lying next to Cullen, their children nestled between them in deep slumber. _He pulls her in tight, kisses her, and tells her he loves her. Tells her she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, how thankful he is to her for staying by his side, for giving him the most beautiful son and daughter._

Faint green light began to emanate from her fingertips and Alistair knew his suspicions were correct. She was calm, her magic humming with the will to protect something, _someone._

“You would be happy with him,” he began again. “Day after day, your world would be filled with laughter and happiness. Until your magic, your precious gift from the Maker, came in the way again. He would leave, tell you that he could never love _something_ like you. He would turn on you, take your children away from you, shun you.”

An imagine of Cullen flashed before her eyes, the look of disgust when her barrier formed around him seared into memory. Alistair's eyes watched as the faint green light grew, emerald consumed by crimson as fire ignited in her hands. She was angry. 

“Open your eyes, love,” Alistair breathed against her ear, taking the flesh between his teeth in a gentle graze. Her eyes fluttered, slowly opening and adjusting to the brightness before her. “There is your magic, my Queen.”

And so it was. Flames burned in her hands, though she did not feel the effects of them. She felt nothing, not even the slightest heat of the fire. Slowly the fire began to die off, her mind becoming a blank slate until nothingness consumed her. “Feelings,” she stated matter-of-factly. 

Alistair nuzzled her neck again, kissing her skin and he spoke proudly. “Yes, your magic is powered your will. Your will to protect, your will to hate, to kill. You must channel that energy and learn to control your magic.”

She pulled her hands back, studying her palms with intense scrutiny. 

\---

Michael paced the room, frantic and scattered. “She is in danger, Max. We have to go. We have to bring her back.”

Maxwell sighed, knowing this already. But it was a delicate situation. If his sister married Alistair, Orlais would declare war. If they took her away, refused to let her marry Alistair, then Ferelden was sure to wage war. “It's not that easy, Michael.”

“Not easy? That's our little sister, Max.”

“Yes, and _our little sister_ is not being held against her will. This is of her own choosing.”

“Her choosing? If you and mother had not forced her into a marriage to that old, washed up Templar then none of this would have happened!”

Why had the Inquisitor allowed this nuisance to remain, Cullen wondered silently to himself. He stood to the right of the war table, opposite the younger Trevelyan, watching to two brothers bicker back and forth. 

“You're the one who left her there!” Maxwell fumed, his nostrils flaring from anger. His attention now turned to Cullen, the same heated look welcoming the Commander. “The both of you!” he added. “You left her up there, you will bring her back.”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen finally spoke, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, “we can’t just march in there and take her.” And he didn't want to see her, fearing the emotions that would stir inside of him at the sight of her. 

_“Figure it out,”_ his voiced seethed with poison.

\---

“What was she like? Warden Amell.” 

They were seated at the dining table, their meal of ram stew and rustic bread placed before them. Alistair had told her many tales over the past days, spoke of everyone he traveled with - even his most despised companion by the name of Morrigan - but rarely mentioned _her._

After much thought, Alistair finally answered. “Hard headed,” he smiled, “much like you.” His eyes glazed over as his thoughts wandered back to her. He had begged her to let him do it, to let him be the one to sacrifice his life. But she wouldn't listen. _Ferelden needs its rightful King,_ she had told him. 

“Did you love her?” Elizabeth wasn't sure why she had asked the question. It seemed obvious that there had been something between them. Alistair pressed his lips into a thin line, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. He tried to hide the pain, but traces of it wrinkled his eyes. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked.”

“I did,” he confessed. _I still do._ First loves were never easy to get over, and he wasn't sure that he ever would. He cleared his throat. “Eat up and get your rest. You have a long day ahead of you.”

Silence fell as Alistair rose from his seat, leaving much of his dinner untouched. She nibbled on hers, her appetite washed away by worry. Did she say something wrong?

That night, for the first time since agreeing to marry Alistair, she spent alone in her spacious bed. Alistair did not come to visit her, to whisper sweet nothings in her ear as he brought her pleasure. 

Worry continued to gnaw at her. 

\---

“Not here? What do you mean she's not here?”

Apparently Leliana, in her haste to tell his sisters about his would-be engagement, forgot to mention that his bride was now marrying the King of Ferelden. It was just like her to leave out the key details. “Mia, it's complicated. You and Rosie should go back home.”

“Cullen, I did not just travel for three days to see my soon-to-be sister-in-law, just to be sent back the minute I arrived. So where the bloody hell is she?”

Cullen sighed. He was weary, worn out from lack of sleep. Elizabeth plagued his thoughts day and night. He could see her before him, his hands yearning to reach out and grab her, though he knew she was just an illusion. 

_She's a fucking mage,_ he kept telling himself and each time he did she would dissipate, only to show up again minutes later. 

He looked up from his paperwork, watching as his sister put both her hands on her hips. “Well?” she asked again when Cullen provided no answer. 

“She's in Denerim.” 

“Why?” Bloody void, he would kill Leliana the first chance he got. 

He spoke through gritted teeth, “She's marrying the King.”

_Because you gave me to him,_ she was at his side, leaning over his desk, her elbows propped up, her supple breasts leveled with his eyes. Maker, even his memory of her was beautiful. _I loved you, Cullen._ How he longed to kiss her, to run his hand through her silky, black hair. The urge to reach out and touch her overcame him again and he shut his eyes tight. 

_She's not real. She's not real. She's not here._

“The King? But Leliana said you were to be married-”

“Mia, _fucking drop it._ ” His hands were at his temples, grasping and clawing, trying to get her out of his head. 

_Cullen, I need you. I want you._ She repeated those words to him over and over just as she had that day when she begged him to take her. He could feel her breath against his ear as she leaned closer, _Make love to me._

_Cullen,_ she called out to him again. He could practically feel her touch, cool against his hands, as she wrapped her own around his.

_Cullen, please._ Maker, he was losing his mind. He could feel her. She was here, pulling his hands from his face and holding them, clutching them desperately in her small ones. 

“Cullen!” He opened his eyes, his blurry vision clearing with each flutter. It was Mia, her face marred with worry, tears forming in her golden eyes. His gaze fell to his hands, finding them held tightly between hers. “Tell me what is going on,” she begged, her voice trembling. 

\---

“Is the King not joining us today?” Elizabeth glanced over to the spot where Alistair usually sat.

Eldric, with his nose buried deep in one of his tomes, did not bother to look up. “The King has important business to attend to, I am told. It shall be just the two of us today. Now, let me see you cast a barrier.”

“I can't,” she admitted, hanging her head. “At least not willingly.” 

“Then I shall cast a fireball at you, my Lady.” Eldric set his book down, no trace of jest as he assumed his position, conjuring up a flame in the palm of his hand with ease.

“Wait,” she panicked, “you can't actually attack me!”

“Repel it with a barrier,” he shrugged.

“But I can’t - _ow_!” Without warning, Eldric pulled his arm back, slinging a ball of fire at her. The flames hit her arm, burning away at some of the fabric of her shirt before dying off. “You hit me. You just hit me!” She rubbed at the meager wound, her pride hurting more than the burn. Why could she not cast a simple barrier?

“I did give you a fair warning, my Lady. _Again_.” 

Another flame, then another, repeated succession of fire hitting her over and over again. They didn't hurt, so much as they stung. Like friction on a really bad sunburn.

“Stop fucking hitting me,” she shouted, now aimlessly trying to dodge the attacks, all hopes of a barrier long forgotten. 

“I'm sorry, my Lady, but the enemy will not stop simply because you ask them to.”

“You're - _ow -_ abusing your - _ow_ \- power.” She couldn't even properly dodge. Maker, she was a lost cause.

“I am paid to teach you magic, my Lady. I have been lenient for nine days now. It is high time you get serious.” 

“Do you think - _ow_ \- that I have been playing around this entire - _ow_ \- time?” She managed to successful dodge one of his attacks, only to be hit by the next one.

“Of course not, my Lady. I've simply run out of options.” His attacks came again and again, unrelenting.

“Out of - _ow_ \- options?!” Was she really that bad? 

“That's enough.”

Both mages turned to look at their guest, Eldric quickly bowing while Elizabeth rubbed at her wounds, glaring daggers at her mentor. _Fucking prick._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story; my Inqy once jumped off her balcony after spending a gazillion hours collecting shards, landmarks and Astrarium puzzles. She's thorough like that, but I think it just became too overwhelming >.<


	16. Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick snippets before our dear Commander goes back to rescue his beloved from Alistair's tight grip. But will she want to be rescued?...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when Liz was getting comfortable in her life as soon to be Queen...will I ever give that woman a break?

A sealed letter had arrived from Orlais, stamped with the seal of the Empress. Leliana had brought it to his attention the moment it came, a look of worry on her usually expressionless face. Maxwell knew then that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

Two days. That is all the time they had to call off the wedding before Celine pulled her army out of the Inquisition and declared war. 

“I did not think Celine would take such drastic measures,” Leliana confessed. They had considered the option that Orlais would fight the matter, but they brushed it off. The Inquisition saved the Empress’ life, they did not truly think that she would retaliate.

“Maker preserve us, this could not get any worse!” Poor Josephine was distraught, months and months of hard work, delicate weaves of connections coming undone before her eyes. They were losing allies faster than she could keep up. “All the noble Houses of Orlais have pulled their coins and the House of Repose has received numerous contracts on Lady Trevelyan’s life.” She looked to Maxwell, panicked. “We have to fix this before it's too late.”

 _Because it's so easy to fix._ Maxwell sighed, running a hand through his usually kempt hair. He couldn't recall the last time he'd bathed. Was it this week? Maybe last? He was being pulled in every direction, even sleep was becoming a rare commodity.

 _Orlais, Ferelden, Elizabeth, fade rifts, Corypheus, Nobles, his inner circle, more fade rifts._ They all required his attention and he wasn't sure how much more he could endure before he collapsed. His mark flared, bright green light emanating between the cracks of his fingers as he fisted his hand, nails digging into his palm. 

He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he could only do one thing at a time. “I'm going to take a bath,” he declared, his tone leaving no room for arguments. “Then I am going to rest. Cullen has been put in charge of handling this situation. Tell Dorian, Varric and Bull to be ready, we leave for the Western Approach at first light.” 

\---

Alistair strode into the training room, his adviser Edgar hot on his heel. They were arguing about something, though Edgar kept his tone respectful. Elizabeth was slick with sweat, each bead a tale of the last two excruciating hours with Court Mage Eldric.

“My King, this is most unwise.” Edgar protested as Alistair stopped to stand right in front of her, the twinkle in his eyes telling Elizabeth he had missed her. 

He kept his eyes on her as he spoke, Edgar huffing and puffing behind him. “Let's ask her what she thinks.” Edgar's face paled. “My Queen, I have been advised by my council to rescind the condition of allowing you to fight. How do you respond?” 

“No,” Elizabeth stated simply. Why was this even being discussed? 

“My King, I highly advise against allowing the future Queen to continue practicing archery and magic. Women of such high rank should not be fighting in the front lines.” Edgar’s voice was beginning to annoy her and it seemed that Alistair could sense her irritation. 

He turned to face her again, his lips curved up into a smile. The look he gave her was foreign, almost loving in nature. “What do you think, love?”

“Why are we having this discussion, Your Majesty?” Elizabeth asked with curiosity.

It was Edgar who answered, the displeasure in his tone seeping through his words. “Tears are beginning to form right outside of the city, _my Lady._ Our soldiers are being called to standby should demons surface. As King, his Majesty must lead his men into battle, no matter how grave or minuscule the threat.” He paused, debating his next words. “Not to mention Orlais has threatened war if the marriage between yourself and King Alistair takes place,” he all but spat. It was clear he did not like her.

Elizabeth looked to Alistair, worry marring her porcelain features. He shook his head, smiling as he whispered, _”It's only a formality.”_

“We must account for every man, woman, and child who is able to bear arms should an attack be imminent, from Orlais or from Demons or Red Templars. My King, you would be putting the Queen’s life in danger if you allowed this silly condition,” Edgar continued, eyes hardened. “She can't even cast a simple barrier spell.”

 _Fuck you, Edgar._ But Elizabeth bit her tongue. _Prim and proper, Elizabeth. Prim and proper. Act like a lady._ She took a deep breath as if to calm the heat beginning to rise in her cheeks. 

“I am to be a citizen of Ferelden, am I not?” she all but sneered. “Anyone that calls themselves Ferelden should be expected to fight for their country. If you will not allow me to fight, King Alistair, then I’m afraid our marriage is void.”

He threw his head back in a hearty chuckle. “Not allow you to fight? Love, what did I tell you? Your every desire will be fulfilled. If you wish to fight, then I will only allow you to do so once you have mastered your gifts.” His voice lowered several octaves as he inched closer to her, his lips centimeters from her ear. “I should like to test your abilities myself. Only to ensure your training is very _thorough_.”

Edgar cleared his throat, uncomfortable with how close the King and Elizabeth were. He was fairly certain if he were not present, things between the two would have escalated quickly. 

Reluctantly, Alistair pulled away from her, his smile never fading. “There you have it, Edgar. Our Queen wishes to fight and protect her people. You could learn a little something from her in that regard.” Alistair turned away, his attention being pulled to the war room by his military Commander. 

Edgar stumbled as he followed in tow. “But sire, you know my knees are bad.”

“More like weak with fear.” 

Their voices were retreating until she could barely hear them anymore. War? Demons? Red Templars? Maker, what was she doing? Edgar was right - she still couldn't cast a simple barrier. She would only be a burden on the battlefield, another thing for Alistair and his men to look out for.

 _No,_ she told herself, her chest rising as she took a deep breath. It was time to start trying in earnest.

\---

Mia stared at her brother, her eyes sick with worry as he told her the tale. From the moment _she_ had first set foot on Skyhold’s grounds, to the moment he left Denerim without her, albeit leaving out the more intimate moments between them. 

She pursed her lips, unsure of how word what she was about to say. Straightforward, she decided. “Cullen, you're in love with her.”

He looked up at her, his face riddled with confusion. _In love?_

No, it was lust. That's all it ever was. All it ever will be. “Don't be absurd, Mia. That vile woman is the most hard-headed, insufferable, bratty child I have ever met.”

“I think you're the hard-headed one,” she argued, snickering. She knew her brother better than he knew himself. “If you don't march up there and get your wife, then I will! I'm only getting older, Cullen. I need nieces and nephews to hold before a cane is permanently glued to my hand.”

“My wi…” his voice trailed, remembering how easily they had pretended to be husband and wife at the castle. How natural it felt. How _perfect_. He cleared his throat, remembering his orders from the Inquisitor. “I leave for Denerim tonight,” he revealed and Mia almost squealed with delight, “ _not to bring back my wife,_ or whatever it is that you think of her. The Inquisitor has given me orders to retrieve his sister.”

Mia rolled her eyes, “The sooner you admit that you love her, the easier this will be on all involved.”

Maker, he would choke the life out of Leliana. As if one was not bad enough, his younger sister, Rosalie, entered his study, skipping about as she happily hummed a tune. “Mia, you won't believe what happened!” Rosalie looked at her brother, giggling and blushing. 

The two older siblings looked at their youngest sister, curious. Although Cullen was slightly more on the irritated side. “What is it, Rosie?”

Cullen leaned back in his chair as he listened to his sister’s tale. “Well, I was walking around and somehow ended up in the kitchens. I asked if I could help and sure enough, they pulled me in and gave me an apron. They put me in charge of baking little frilly cakes for the wedding!” She seemed so excited for something so mundane. 

And _what fucking wedding?_ Cullen thought to himself. 

“That's great, Rose,” Mia brushed her off, but Rosalie stopped her.

“No, there's more!” She paused, another giggle, and continued when Mia nodded her head, silently telling her to go on. “So as I'm baking, minding my own business, this beautiful red headed woman walks in. She walks up to the head chef and tells him to make sure not to add any rum to the cakes because the bride-to-be is with child! Of course, I had to start the mixture all over, which was inconvenient considering..”

Mia and Cullen had tuned out their younger sister. Mia’s gaze slowly turned to him, her eyes burning. “Out of wedlock, really Cullen?” 

_But I've barely even touched her,_ he thought to himself. Sure he was drunk that night, but he remembered it clearly. Elizabeth had begged for it, but he did not deflower her.

It was official. Leliana would die by his hands. 

\---

“My King, I do not believe you are grasping the seriousness of this situation.” Edgar spoke, slightly cowering. 

“Are you calling me daft, Edgar?” Alistair tried to hide the snicker in his tone. 

“N- no, sire, never!” he quickly corrected, “I simply mean to say that you are rather… _carefree_ about the whole ordeal.”

“Why wouldn't I be?” Alistair countered. “Orlais will not attack, lest they wish to fight Ferelden _and_ the Inquisition. It is merely a formality, their way of saying _congratulations._ ”

Somehow Edgar highly doubted that. He sighed, looking to Alistair's military adviser for aid.

“Should we prepare the men just in case, Your Majesty?” Commander Adler interjected. Great help he was, Edgar thought to himself. 

Alistair shrugged, “There is no need to alarm them without cause. Carry on as you have been, Commander.”

\---

“I don't see why I have to be stuck with you,” groaned Michael as he rode his horse, trailing behind the Commander. “I'd rather be doing anything else.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Cullen agreed, but his mind was elsewhere. He had stormed into the war room shortly after Rosalie’s story, finding the Inquisitor and his two fellow advisers at his side. 

_“What the hell are you doing, Leliana?!”_ He had been livid, the door almost unhinging as he barged in. She had told him to relax, to calm down. 

_”It is the only way, Cullen. If we force the wedding to be called off, Ferelden will surely start a rebellion. But if the Queen-to-be is already with another man’s child..”_

_“No harm, no foul,” Josephine finished._

_Maxwell was uncharacteristically silent given that the rumor involved his sister. “You knew about this?” Cullen asked the Inquisitor, his nostrils flaring with anger._

_“Leliana is right,” he offered simply. “This is the only way.”_

_“And what happens when she does not begin to show in the coming months?” Cullen laughed, they had not thought their entire plan through. They were silent and he looked to Maxwell, who just hung his head in shame. No...no, this wasn't good._

_“That's where you come in,” Leliana spoke, the vagueness of her answer making everything clear._

“Are you listening to me, Templar?” Michael had caught up to him, clearly annoyed that he'd been talking to himself this entire time.

Cullen replied simply with a, “No.”

\---

Their wedding was two days away and Elizabeth honestly did not know if she was excited or terrified. Perhaps a bit of both?

She was finally getting the hang of her magic, too. She was able to conjure up a barrier for ten seconds, heal minor cuts, and even managed to strike Eldric with a bolt of lightning. Payback is a bitch.

Elizabeth stood next to Alistair as His Majesty welcomed the visitors who had come for the wedding. It was _exhausting._ She had kept a smile plastered on her lips for so long, she was afraid her mouth was permanently stuck like that. She leaned over, standing on her toes to reach his ear.

“How much longer?” she whispered.

Another Noble was approaching them, his confidence and ego entering the room before even he did. Alistair turned to smirk at his bride, “Do you have somewhere you need to be, love?”

She had grown bolder in her short time with him, comfortable even. Her smirk matched his, “Yes. _Your bed._ ”

“Cheeky.”

Their conversation died down as the Noble neared with gift in hand. He bowed formally, extending his gift with hopes that the happy couple would find it pleasing. The moment he left, Alistair stole a glance at his bride. 

“What could possibly be more fun in my bed than _this_?” He gestured to all the gifts and Nobles that remained, a line forming from atop the castle stairs all the way out and down to the markets. 

“I could think of a few things.” 

“Oh? Do tell.” 

“Your tongue on my clit as I rode your face to my orgasm,” admittedly, that was her favorite position so far. But he had yet to penetrate her, so that was subject to change. “Your fingers buried deep in my cunt as I beg you for release and scream your name to the heavens.” Maker, she had grown so bold and he loved every bit of it. “But you do make a valid point, Your Majesty. We do not need your bed. We could do it right here, put on a show for everyone.”

He turned his face to fully look at her, his eyes dark with lust. “You would love that, wouldn't you, my little minx?”

She bit her lip, stifling a giggle as two figures approached them. They hadn't paid much attention, lost as they were in their heat, until the sound of a familiar voice caressed her ear.

The man cleared his throat and Elizabeth's head snapped forward. Before her stood Michael and…

_”Cullen.”_


	17. What Goes Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me >.<

He stood before her, dashing in his formal clothes. A red military coat with gold accents, a blue sash crossed over his chest and tied around his abdomen. Everything around them faded as if they were the only two in the room. But the feeling did not last long as Alistair's voice broke her daze.

“Commander,” his voice was cautious, wondering what he owed this visit to, “I see you come bearing no gifts. So you must not be here to congratulate Lady Trevelyan and I.” Elizabeth kept quiet, her mind tossing between feelings of anger, dread and longing.

Cullen looked as if he were fighting a losing internal struggle. He swallowed, clasping his hands together behind his back as he tried to stand tall. He deliberately avoided her eyes. “I've come to take Lady Trevelyan back home.”

Alistair tried to stifle his laugh, managing to reduce it down to a light chuckle. “Take her back? She's not property to be taken back, Cullen.”

Heat was beginning to rise in the pit of her stomach and yet she still managed to bite her tongue. She couldn't trust her voice not to tremble in his presence.

Cullen ignored Alistair's remark. “Call off the wedding, Your Majesty.”

“And why in the world would I do such a thing, Commander?” Alistair countered.

“Because,” he paused, the words he was about to utter visibly bothering him. “Because Lady Trevelyan is carrying my child.”

Silence fell, her mind reeled. What did he just say?

“What did you just say?!” It was Michael who spoke her mind, his hands balled up into fits and ready to meet the Commander's face. Cullen shot him a look as if to tell him be quiet, before turning back to face Alistair. It figures they would leave the hot-blooded idiot out of the loop.

“With child?” Alistair threw his head back with a hearty laugh. He turned to look at Elizabeth, laughing at the absurd claims of the Commander. Sure, she had not bled since she arrived, Alistair was privy to that fact since his fingers were buried deep inside her every night. But she was a virgin, both men knew that. What was Cullen playing at then?

“I most certainly am not,” she spoke, crossing her arms over her chest. She had to steady her breathing, calm herself before her powers slipped out of her control and Cullen found himself spontaneously combusting into flames.

“You sure about that?” he countered smoothly. 

Where did he get off? First he relentlessly teases and flirts with her, then opens up to her and asks her to _marry_ him, practically dry jumps her against a wall, and then leaves? And now this? 

“Absolutely! I -” she stammered, a pink tint gracing her cheeks despite her best efforts. “I bled before we set out for Denerim.”

“That may be true,” Cullen agreed, ignoring the daggers Michael was throwing with his eyes, “but if you recall our ride here was relatively… _bumpy._ ”

The nerve! She was furious, her hands flying in the air as she screamed, “We’ve never had sex!”

Alistair, who was losing what little amusement this was providing, stepped in. “What game is this, Cullen? What is the Inquisition up to?”

“Celene sent an official letter. You have to call off the wedding by tomorrow morning.” He wasn't supposed to reveal that, but his pride could not play along with this stupid idea that Leliana conjured up. Knocking her up was completely out of the question, but he would deal with that later when Elizabeth was safe and sound behind the gates of Skyhold. “Call off the wedding, Alistair, before you cause a bloodbath.”

The King lowered his eyes in thought, “Perhaps we would continue this conversation elsewhere.” There was a line of impatient Nobles within earshot after all.

\---

Alistair had made an announcement to all the visitors who gathered to greet him and his bride. He apologized for having to excuse himself, telling them that he did not feel well and would like to get some rest. Edgar received the gifts in his stead, making sure to mark down what came from whom.

“Orlais does not scare me,” Alistair remarked with an air of indifference when the three of them were behind the safety of his room. Elizabeth had not allowed Michael to come, still angry with her brother. She wanted to ban Cullen, too, but someone had to explain what the hell was going on.

Cullen sighed, weary from his travels. “Perhaps we should talk alone, Alistair,” he tried to reason with his old friend.

“Whatever you have to say can be said in the presence of my Queen,” the other man stated simply.

For the first time since he arrived, Cullen's eyes found hers. Those azure orbs, like shards of beautiful blue crystal. Her hair was down, loose curls cascading down her delicate shoulders and pooling in the cleavage created by her tight, form-fitting corset. His mind wandered, but he quickly shook his head. “Fine,” he spoke through gritted teeth, growing increasingly more frustrated by the minute. “If you do not call of this wedding, the Inquisition will be forced to side with Orlais and dethrone you, placing an Orlesian puppet in your stead. Is that what you want?”

“Maxwell would not do that,” argued the young Trevelyan, hands placed on her hips in defiance. 

“The Empress is going to great lengths to thwart this alliance,” Alistair pondered aloud. “Why?”

“The faith of her people has wavered. Since the revelation of Florianne’s ties to Corypheus, Celene has been losing supporters left and right. If she allows a marriage between the King of Ferelden and the Inquisitor’s sister she will surely lose the throne. She is giving us no other option, Alistair. Either you give up this farce or innocent men and women will die for your stupidity. There's a million other women out there, take your pick.”

Alistair instinctively wrapped a protective arm around Elizabeth's waist, pulling her to him. “I've eyes for no other woman.” Elizabeth wanted to pull away, tell him to rethink his actions. Marrying her was not worth going to war over.

Cullen pulled something from his breast pocket, a folded parchment that he held out to Alistair. “A decree from the Inquisition swearing you the alliance and protection you want. No one can touch you, not Orlais, Neverra, Antiva, _no one_.”

Had he been given this alliance from day one, Alistair would have taken the offer in a heartbeat. But his heart was beginning to mend, the hole Solana left slowly being filled by this beautiful woman beside him. Fate would break his heart twice, it would seem. He looked to Elizabeth, her shining eyes pleading with him to take the offer. _I’m not worth innocent lives,_ he could hear her saying.

“I can't,” he finally announced, much to the shock of both parties in the room. “I'm in love with her.”

_What?_

Their eyes held each others as Alistair continued. “I haven't felt this way since…” he was so lost in that endless abyss of blue that he almost said _her_ name. He turned back to Cullen, “I can't let her go. Unless she wishes to, then I will not force her to stay.” Next to him, he could hear her breathe his name, shocked at his words.

Cullen was beside himself. Alistair was in love…with Elizabeth? No, that was a move, his play in the game. Alistair hasn't loved anyone since Solana Amell and certainly not Elizabeth after only twelve days with her. Cullen had to call his bluff and there was only one way he knew how.

“Love? Is this your way of getting her to stay? By professing lies to her?” Cullen shook his head with disbelief. “What do you want, Alistair? Do you want to hear me say that you've won the bet, is that it?” Bringing up the bet was a last resort, but Cullen had no other option. She would hate him, both of them. “Would that get you to stop this charade?”

“What bet?” Elizabeth looked between the two men, pulling away from Alistair's embrace. Alistair's face fell and Cullen's contorted with pain. How many times would he break her heart? “What bet?” she repeated, anger rising in her voice.

Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes that felt like eternity as nothing but silence filled the room. The beat of her heart was drumming in her ears and she felt like she would be sick. “ _What fucking bet?!”_

“Tell her, _Your Majesty,_ “ Cullen finally spoke. “It was your idea, after all.”

Elizabeth turned to face him, a painful distance between them now. He struggled to speak, but she needed to know the truth. He owed her that much. “I proposed,” he paused, hating himself now for what he had said, “a challenge between the Commander and I to see who could bed you and get you to marry them.”

The words stung, even more with every memory that came back to her. Is that why Cullen had asked her to marry him that night? So he could win this stupid bet? Is that why Alistair accepted her even after her magic surfaced? It's all been game to them. _She's been a game to them._

“Elizabeth, I'm sorry-” she held up her hand, cutting off whatever bullshit excuse was about to spill from Alistair's mouth. At least Cullen had the decency to keep his mouth shut and hang his head in shame. 

She couldn't even look at them as she brushed past both men without a word. What could she even say to that?

\---

“What the hell was that about?” Alistair's eyes were burning holes into the other man.

“You weren't backing down,” Cullen retorted, “so I had to take drastic measures. All you had to do was accept the Inquisition’s offer and be done with it. This is a _war_ we’re talking about, Alistair. We cannot afford to lose more lives, Corypheus has taken enough as it is.”

Alistair seemed to ponder on this before finally replying, his eyes glazed over as if he were lost in a dream of his own. “Would you believe me if I told you that I really am in love with her?” 

Cullen's brows knitted together, “You're still keeping this up?”

Alistair smiled despite the tug he felt at his heart. “No, honestly, I am. Not like I loved Solana, but more than anyone since. But she loves another and I've know that since the first night.”

“I tried to break her free, to make her forget, but every time I touched her, she'd close her eyes and I knew she was imagining someone else. She masked it well, but I could still feel it. Every time she called out my name there was a hesitation in her voice, as if she were mentally reminding herself not to say the wrong name.”

Cullen balled his hands into fists, not wishing to listen to Alistair's nights of passion with her. Wherever he was going with this, he needed to get there fast before Cullen punched him.

“She asked me about Solana,” at this Cullen tensed, Solana was a sore subject, “and that's when I knew she would never fully be mine. Because you never get over your first love, no matter how hard you try.” Alistair turned to face him, “She loves you, Cullen.”

There was a long silence before either of them spoke. 

“I know the reservations you have about mages,” Alistair read his mind, placing a reassuring hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “Her magic only manifested because of her sheer will to protect you. She needs you by her side now more than she ever will.”

\---

There was a knock at her door, followed by his voice. She didn't want to speak to him, much less look at him. 

“Elizabeth? May I come in, please?”

“It is your castle,” she spat, “do as you please.” She could hear his heavy sigh from the other side of the door. The knob turned - _a click, a creak_ \- and the door closed again. She was packing what measly belongings she had brought with her.

“Can we talk?” His voice was pleading, the sound of his footsteps growing closer. She dared not look back at him. “Please?”

She stilled, her hands trembling as she held them in from of her. Maker, she had allowed him to take her night and night again, shamelessly giving into pleasure, forcing herself to believe that she could be happy like this. “Was any of it real? What you said, was any of it true?” She still did not look at him, but she could _feel him_ , the radiating heat of his body only inches from hers.

“Do I love you?” It wasn't a question, more of a confirmation that he knew what she was asking. “More than you'll ever know.”

“But never more than Solana.” The mention of her name pierced his heart. “That's why you avoided me for several days after I mentioned her. You're still in love with her,” she turned now to look at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “And I was fine with that, Alistair. A life as second best, knowing I'll never fully have your heart - I was fine with that. But I'm not fine with _this._ ” A bet. A game.

Alistair cupped her cheek and she wanted to pull away, but she was lost in his eyes. “You were fine with it because I would only ever be _your second best._ ” Her eyes widened, but relaxed as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You were never going to be fully mine. I knew that and yet still I persisted.”

A single tear stained her cheek and Alistair quickly brushed it away. “I will call off the wedding. You may return to Skyhold, or Ostwick, or wherever you wish. You're a strong, independent woman, Elizabeth. Explore the world, find your place in it. _Find yourself._ And know that you will always have a place in my heart should you wish to return.” 

Alistair tilted his head, brining it down until his lips hovered above hers. He waited for her to pull back, and when she didn't, he kissed her, full of passion and longing. Both hands cupped her face now, pulling her closer. She kissed him back despite herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any errors. I rushed to get this out before tomorrow because I'm starting a PT job!!! Thank God cause this SAHM stuff is for the birds!!
> 
> But in all seriousness, kudos to the SAHMs. I don't know how y'all do it. You have my utmost respect.


	18. Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth proves her worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deciding to post two chapters in hopes of reconciling with all the Ali-shippers >.< sowwy!!

“My good citizens of Denerim,” Alistair began as he addressed the crowd that had gathered outside the castle, “and guests from all over Ferelden.” The Nobles stood off to the side, not wishing to mingle with the commoners, but they all shared the same expressions: confusion. Why has the King called them the morn before his wedding? Why was the soon-to-be Queen not at his side? 

“It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you...there will be no wedding.” Gasps, both shocked and of anger, erupted and soon words of accusation were being thrown around.

_”It’s those damn Orlesians, ain't it?_ ” a homely, sturdy fellow yelled. The people around him began to agree: voicing their concerns, their refusal to bow to Orlais’ wishes, demanding war for their wounded pride. Alistair held up his hand, silencing them.

“I wish that were true, my good man.” Their faces fell, his words once again casting confusion. He was not going to let Orlais take the fall for his stupidity, no matter his distaste for them. Nor was he going to taint Elizabeth's honor by entertaining the Inquisition’s pregnancy story. No, he would own up to his actions. “It is entirely my fault that Lady Trevelyan returned to her home late last night. She deserved to be treated better and I'm afraid I did a poor job of that.” He paused, looking out into the crowd. The anger was dissipating, replaced by looks of worry and sympathy. “My guests from afar, please feel free to stay in any of the lovely inns Denerim has to offer. Your expenses will be paid for in full by the Crown. Your gifts shall be returned to you, should you wish to take them back.”

Silence fell as Alistair adjusted his coat, turning his back and retreating back into the safety of his castle. 

\--- 

Michael had tried to make small conversations here and there, but it was fruitless. She would not talk.

Cullen knew better, knew how stubborn she could be, so he kept his mouth shut, focusing on the road ahead. Elizabeth rode between them, Cullen to her right and Michael on the left.

Alistair had gifted her one of the horses from his royal stable, which she was very grateful for. Cullen and Michael had only arrived with the horses they rode and she did not wish to be in such close proximity to either of them.

“Lizzy, please say something,” he begged for the umpteenth time since they set out. “I'm sorry. I never should have left you but-”

His words were cut short as an arrow whizzed past her face, missing her by mere centimeters and lodging into Michael’s arm. He cried at the sudden pain, alerting Cullen who had been traveling ahead of them, lost in his own thoughts. His trained eyes looked out into the direction from whence the arrow came, finding nothing but greenery.

“Are you alright?” The quarrel he had with the assassin was quickly forgotten as the Commander in him took over. 

Michael nodded, clutching his arm, “I'll be fine. We have to get to safety!” Elizabeth looked at the arrow protruding from her brother's arm. It was deep, almost piercing through the other side. She had some potions in her satchel, could even try healing him, but first they needed to find shelter.

Cullen nodded, “Follow me.” He spurred his horse with a whip of the reins, the two Trevelyan siblings following suit. Their horses braced against the wind, galloping as fast as they could. The sudden loud _neigh_ by one of the horses, followed by a _thump_ caused the two male riders to halt. They looked at each other momentarily before looking back. 

Elizabeth was on the ground, a minor scrape on her knees and hands from the unforgiving ground. Her horse lay by her side, an arrow in its neck. “Damn it,” Cullen cursed as he began to ride the distance back, but he did not get far. From the corner of his eye he could see the leaves rustle, three figures emerging from the bushes. He recognized one of the men immediately. _”Samson._ ”

“My, my, my. What do we have here?” Samson, with two Red Templar Knights on either side of him, approached Elizabeth as she struggled to lift herself. Cullen's eyes quickly scanned her, looking for any unseen injuries. She seemed to be struggling to put weight on her right leg.

Both Cullen and Michael descended from their horses, never taking their eyes off the enemy. Neither of them drew their weapons for fear of what could happen to Elizabeth, but Cullen's hand hovered right above the hilt of his sword while Michael’s rested at his sides, ready to draw his daggers at any moment.

Just as Elizabeth had managed to lift herself by her arms, Samson placed his foot on her back, pushing her back down into the cold ground with a twisting motion of his foot. “Dirt like you should bow before Corypheus’ great General, little girl.”

Michael hissed, drawing his daggers and lunging forward before his chest collided with Cullen's extended arm. He turned to look at the Commander who just shook his head. There was something in his eyes, Michael noted. They had darkened, almost pitch black, death oozing out of his pupils. 

Elizabeth struggled as Samson applied more weight, crying out in pain. Michael clenched his jaw, repeatedly telling himself that Samson would crush her before he could reach her. They had to find a distraction.

“Let her go, Samson,” Cullen's voice was dark, bereft of all emotion. “Be a man and fight someone your own size. Or have you stooped so low?”

Samson threw his head back in a wicked laugh. “Perhaps I shall _let her go_. After I've thoroughly ploughed into her.” Samson knew how to get a rise out of him.

“Bastard,” Michael sneered, his body itching to shove his dagger deep down the Templar’s throat. There was no opening, no way to distract Samson and his Knights in order to cross the distance between them. He would break her neck by the time they reached her. Cullen knew this, too, and the realization kept fueling his anger. He would rip Samson to shreds.

“This is the Inquisitor's sister, is it not?” It was a rhetorical question. Samson knew exactly who he had captured. “I can just imagine the things my master will do to her.”

“Tell your master,” she struggled to speak, her very breathing limited by Samson’s weight, “ _I'm sorry to disappoint_.” As she spoke, static littered her body, a jolt of electricity traveling up Samson’s leg, enough to cause him to stumble backwards, but not enough to knock him down. It was all the opening they needed as Cullen and Michael lunged forward, both men baring their weapons down on the enemy. Elizabeth took the opportunity to roll out of the way before Samson could grab her, wincing in pain as she rose to her feet. 

Cullen quickly took Samson’s attention away from her, swords clashing as Samson moved to block his attack. The two Knights busied themselves with Michael, but it was obvious that the assassin could not handle them, especially with an arrow still lodged in his arm. 

Elizabeth, pulling her staff from the strap on her back, quickly cast a barrier around her brother to repel the attacks from the Red Templar Knights, bolts of lightning striking then whenever they neared the green film. Michael glanced back at her with a nod of his head, a silent appreciation. They worked in tandem, Michael with his rogue abilities and Elizabeth with her magic, taking down the first Knight as Michael buried his dagger into his neck. Blood spewed from the wound, gushing in large bursts as the man fell to his knees, clutching the deadly blow. Elizabeth was thankful that Michael took the kill, but seeing a man die before her was traumatizing nonetheless. 

_Keep it together, Liz,_ she told herself. _They need you._

The barrier around Michael dissipated and she did not recast it. Partially because she wasn't sure she could, but mostly because one enemy was proving to be easier than two. Her mana was depleting, her bow and arrow tucked away under her dead horse, leaving her without a weapon to fight with. She couldn't hobble back to retrieve her bow, her twisted ankle keeping her rooted in place. She leaned on her staff, breathing heavily as she watched her two allies fight. 

Michael was having no trouble with the remaining Knight, but Cullen seemed evenly matched with the man named Samson. They taunted each other with words, their swords clashing together as one attacked and the other blocked. Something Samson said caused Cullen to lose concentration for a split second, allowing the Templar General’s sword to slash at Cullen’s abdomen. He stumbled back, holding his stomach and he keeled over. 

“Cullen!” The voice belonged to her, but Elizabeth could not recall controlling it. She drew on every ounce of strength she had left to throw up a wall of ice between him and Samson, hoping to give Cullen enough time to regain composure. 

Samson took the time to asses the situation. He was outnumbered, his two Knights laying in pools of their own blood. Michael, who had finished with his opponent, rushed to Cullen’s side, his dagger ready to make quick work of Samson. But Samson was no fool. He quickly retreated, with promise of seeing the ex-Templar again in the future.

\---

Her body wanted to collapse, but she pushed on. Cullen's cut was deep, he was groaning in pain as she and Michael assisted him in walking. They found a clearing off the main road, deciding it was best to make camp and rest since the nearest town was half a day’s ride. They were all injured and certain they could not make the journey.

Michael helped her set Cullen down, leaning his injured body against the trunk of a tree. “Let me take a look,” she said as Michael retreated. He began to gather fallen branches to start a fire, carrying the twigs in his good arm. The arrow was still sticking out of the other. 

Elizabeth took a hold of the hem of Cullen's shirt, gently lifting the fabric from his wound before he stopped her. “Take care of yourself first,” he said weakly. He had noticed her struggle to walk, how she favored her left leg. “Your ankle is broken.”

She brushed it off, freeing her hands from his and continuing to reveal his wound, “I’ll be fine. It's just a sprain.” The truth was she only had enough mana left to heal one of them. Michael didn't seem like he would bleed out from his wound and she could manage with a twisted ankle. However, Cullen was slowly beginning to lose consciousness as his words slurred, his vision hazy.

“I'm sorry,” he said in defeat, letting his hands fall to his sides. His eyes found hers and even in his daze he could still see the hurt and pain he caused. “You did good out there. I'm proud of you.”

His body went limp, his head rolling to the side as he lost consciousness from the blood loss. She worked quickly, lifting his shirt to reveal a deep gash. Had it been any deeper, she was sure his guts would have spilled out. Elizabeth placed both her hands over his stomach, hovering slightly about the wound as her hands began to glow with a green light. She could feel herself becoming weaker as his skin mended shut, a raised scar visible under all the blood. 

She pulled her hands back, looking at his peaceful yet vulnerable state. Her heart ached for him, for his touch. Try as she might, she couldn't hate him. Nor could she quite forgive him for what he had done.

She rose to her feet, using her staff for support as she hobbled over to Michael who was sitting on a large tree stump. The fire was burning brightly, the heat welcoming her tired, cold body. Night was falling and with it the temperature. 

“Here,” she held out a yellow vial as she sat next to him, “it will help numb the pain when I pull the arrow out.”

“Can't you just do one of your healing thingy’s?” 

It hurt to laugh. “All out of mana. Sadly, mana regeneration was my next lesson,” she chuckled, the irony not lost on her. “I can pull the arrow out and sear the wound to prevent you from bleeding out. That will hold until we get to the nearest town.”

He nodded, “What about you?”

“Just a sprain. I'll manage. The arrow head is pretty deep. It will be easier if I break off the other end and push the rest of the arrow through the other side.”

He downed the vial without another word and she counted to three. On the count of two, she snapped the fletching off and forced the rest of the arrow through the other side, piercing his skin in the process. He cried out in pain, yanking his arm away. Slowly, the potion began to take hold, like a warm liquid running through his veins until he felt nothing. 

“Give me your dagger,” she said, holding out her hand. He did so without question, watching as she cleaned the blood with her shirt before sticking the blade into the fire. _Let's hope this doesn't get infected,_ she thought to herself as she pulled the blade back after several minutes. She placed the hot metal against his skin, the pungent smell of burning flesh hitting their nostrils. Still he felt nothing. 

When she was done, Elizabeth turned to fish something else out of her satchel as Michael watched her. When had his little sister grown up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please excuse any grammatically mistakes! <3


	19. Agent Aquired

The sun’s rays filtered through the trees, bright and brilliant and warm. Cullen was the first to awake, his eyes fluttering as he tried to adjust to the daylight. He groaned, every muscle in his body sore from the way he slept. He tried to recall last night's events, his hands instinctively shooting to his stomach where he had been cut. He looked down, finding only dried up blood and the telltale signs of a scar. 

She had saved him. _Again._ With the use of her magic.

His eyes scanned the clearing. A makeshift fire was slowly dying and beside it was Elizabeth, curled up in a fetal position as she slept. Michael’s daggers were by her side, though there was no sign of assassin.

Cullen slowly rose to his feet and crossed the distance between them. He knelt down beside her, his hand searching for a pulse in the crook of her neck. He felt silly, but he had to make sure. 

She was alive. 

Elizabeth stirred, the coolness of his hand waking her as he pulled his hand back. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand. Elizabeth didn't say anything as she looked around their measly excuse for a camp, anything to keep her eyes off Cullen. 

_Where is Michael?_

“Elizabeth,” her name rolled off his tongue, sweet and delicate, “I-”

“Don't, Cullen. I don't want to hear that you're sorry.”

A maddening silence fell between them as Cullen searched for the words to say. What could he say? Nothing would erase the hurt he caused. 

_”Thank you.”_ Her head snapped up, piercing blue meeting molten amber. He was sincere, genuine. “For saving my life,” he clarified, “again.”

“Don't mention it,” she brushed it off, but her heart was racing. Maker he looked beautiful with his golden locks disheveled. So vulnerable. Soft and kind. 

“Your ankle,” he gestured to the swelling, “why didn't you heal yourself?” There was a long pause. She was ashamed to admit that she was not strong enough to manage that, yet angry at him for making her seem so weak without even trying. She looked away, jaw tightening in response. “You're out of juice,” he sighed, realizing what was going on. She spent the last of her mana on him. 

\---

“Absolutely not!” she huffed.

“Elizabeth, we have no other option. You can't ride with a broken ankle and Michael is still injured, he can't support your weight.”

“I refuse to be that close to you,” she turned her back to him, watching Michael a ways away from them. He was struggling to pull himself up onto the saddle with one only hand, but he managed. 

“Look, I'm not going to impregnate you just by riding behind you,” he snickered, enjoying the light pink tint that stained her cheeks. She may have been mad at him, but her body still wanted him. “Please, just do it the easy way for once?” 

She turned to look at him, his gloved hand extended out to help her up into his lab. Reluctantly she took hold of it, instantly regretting it as he pulled her up with ease and cradled her against his chest. _I should have just healed my ankle and let him bleed to death,_ she thought, her whole body heating up at his touch.

“Just relax,” he whispered as he nudged the horse into a slow trot. Elizabeth had not even noticed her body tense. She took a deep breath, watching Michael as he scouted ahead of them.

Maker, she smelled wonderful. His nose was only inches from her hair, the faint smell of vanilla and honey welcoming his senses. He yearned to run a hand through those dark locks, but knew better.

“Was that your stupid idea?”

“Huh?” Cullen was pulled out of his trance, blinking the daze away. 

“ _I'm with child?_ Was that you're doing?” she repeated.

“I've done a lot of stupid things. I'm glad to say this isn't one of them. You have Leliana to thank for it.”

“Regardless,” she stared at her hands in her lap, unable to look him in the eyes as she spoke, “it's not going to happen. I will no longer cater to everyone's whims.”

Cullen nodded, “On that we can agree.” He was wrong about her. She wasn't some entitled brat whose sole existence was to irritate him. She was strong. Independent. And she deserved to have a voice of her own.

\---

“Elizabeth!” Maxwell practically ran to greet her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a tight embrace. “Thank the Maker, I was worried I would have to come to Denerim myself and challenge Alistair to a duel.” His attempts at making her laugh were futile. He pulled back awkwardly. “It's good to see you.”

He led her to the war table, where Josephine and Leliana were joined by Cullen. “There is something we wish to discuss, Liz.” 

Dread seeped into her at Maxwell’s words. They were really going to entertain the thought that she should have a child with a man she could not stand. She jerked herself free of his hold. “No, Max. You can't force me to go along with this absurd plan. I refuse to be anyone's pawn any longer.”

Silence fell as each of them looked at one another, faces of amusement, dismay, and pride. What the hell was going on?

“Good,” Maxwell nodded his head. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

“What?” She was dumbfounded.

“King Theirin has publicly called off the wedding and taken sole blame for the fallout,” Josephine explained diplomatically.

“This has satisfied the Ferelden people as well as Orlais, which means no further action is required on our part,” Leliana added.

“What of the rumors you so carelessly spread among the kitchen staff?” Cullen interjected, seemingly just as surprised as Elizabeth at their revelation.

“They can be silenced,” she replied vaguely.

“No,” Maxwell shook his head, “no killing, Leliana.” She sighed heavily, not keen on having to do things so… _cleanly._

“It wouldn't be entirely impossible to say that Lady Trevelyan miscarried,” Josephine suggested. All eyes turned to her; _did sweet Josephine just suggest faking a miscarriage of a nonexistent fetus?_

“It could work,” Leliana agreed. Cullen remained silent on the matter, feeling it was not his place to make any decisions. They had gotten her into the mess, it was only fair they let her choose how to get out of it.

“Would that work for you?” Maxwell turned to face her. Was he actually asking her opinion before drastically fucking up her life? He must have been sick, perhaps a fever messing with his thoughts.

She slowly nodded seeing as there was no other option to magically make a baby disappear. And killing was out of the question.

“Good. I shall let the word slip.” Leliana politely excused herself, soon followed by Josephine who profusely apologized for her role in the whole ordeal. Cullen slipped out as silently as he had entered.

“That settles that then,” Maxwell sighed, running a hand through his hair. “There's one more matter we need to discuss. I've heard what happened on the road, Cullen filled me in as soon as you arrived.”

Her magic. That's what he wanted to discuss. He would put her under watch and stick her in a Circle the moment he had a chance. 

“He told me you saved their lives, that without you Samson and his men would have killed them. He's impressed by your abilities and has recommended you for the Inquisition.”

_”What?”_

Maxwell chuckled, “Believe me, no one was more surprised than I. Cullen has never praised anyone, not even his own men, so to hear him speak highly of you was...slightly unnerving. But I trust his judgement.” He stepped closer to her, cupping her face in his gentle hands. “My baby sister has grown into a strong woman and I must accept that fact. It will not be easy sending you into battle, but if you decide to join the Inquisition know that I will treat you just like any other soldier. You will not receive preferential treatment.”

“I..” a long pause as her mind traveled a million miles a minute. She had been prepared to march in here, give everyone a piece of her mind before being shipped back to Ostwick where she would be banished from the records as ever having been a Trevelyan. She had not expected this.

“What do you say?” he urged, his eyes shining bright with something akin to worry and pride. He was proud of the woman before him, but filled with dread at the thought of sending her into battle.

“Yes. I'll join.”

\---

Three paced knocks against his door tore him from the documents he was skimming through. He set the reports from Rylen down, his amber gaze lifting to the door as he announced, “Come in.”

It was dark outside and he was not used to visitors this late. The only one who ever did come knocking on his door this late was Linnea, but he had ended things with her shortly after his first return from Denerim. 

“Cullen?” A jolt of anxiety filled his being, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sound of Elizabeth's voice. His mind raced with excuses for her late visit. Did she decline the Inquisitor’s offer? Was she coming to say her goodbye’s? Did she come to tell him how much she hated him and how she would never forgive him before leaving? She stepped out from behind the door, timid and awkward. “May I have a word with you?”

He stood from his chair, rounding his desk as he responded, “Of course.”

She closed the door behind her and an awkward silence filled the room. Her eyes roamed his study, looking at anything but him. She found interest in the bookshelf in the corner of his room, wondering what types of books the Commander was partial to. War strategies, she assumed. He cleared his throat, the sound causing her to make eye contact with him.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you.”

_Thank me?!_

“Maxwell told me you put in a good word for me. He let me join the Inquisition.”

“That's good,” he replied, masking the pain. She was still a delicate flower and he wanted to protect her, to take her in his arms and never let her go. But she was her own woman and he did not want to hold her back. His eyes softened. “I'm glad.”

She fidgeted with her hands, unsure of what to do with them as she stood there awkwardly. “Well, that's all then. Have a good night, Commander.”

She turned to leave and his heart sank. The urge to grab her, hold her, intensifying like an itch he couldn't scratch. “Wait,” he called out.

 _Now or never, Rutherford,_ he told himself. He stepped closer to her, closing the distance between them. The itch persisted, but he did not reach out to touch her. “I know you don't want to hear it, but allow me to get it off my chest so I can at least sleep somewhat better at night knowing that you know the truth.”

She worried her bottom lip, her answering coming in the form of a nod.

“The bet between Alistair and I, it was silly. Stupid. We’ve often challenged one another on who would first bed whichever woman found our fancy.” Maker, he was digging a deeper hole for himself. He cleared his throat again. “What I mean to say is that it was never like that with you. The night Alistair proposed the challenge he talked about making you _his_ and in a jealous haze I agreed to the stupid bet. But my feelings for you never stemmed from the stupid pact he and I made. I meant every word I said. You infuriate me beyond belief, crawl under my skin with your defiant, hard-headed ways. But Maker damn me, I love you. _I love you_ , Elizabeth Trevelyan.”

Silence fell again, thick and maddening. Her eyes were wide pools of blue, more fierce than the waves of the Storm Coast. 

“I know I don't deserve to love you, but sadly it is not within my control to stop. I’m not sure that I would want to, if I had the choice. I can't forgive myself for all that has happened to you, for all that I have done to you. For abandoning you because I was scared.”

 _Yes, you left me, Cullen,_ she wanted to say, but her voice was still lost to her.

“I understand if you never wish to speak to me again, but I had-” his words were cut off as her lips found his, her body held up by her toes in order to reach him. 

As the shock wore off and realization dawned on him, he began to kiss her back, soft and sweet at first then more demanding as if he were getting drunk on her the more he kissed her. His hands found her hips, holding her steady in place as his tongue caressed her mouth.

After what seemed like minutes she pulled back, breathless. “You're not forgiven.”

He chuckled, pulling her body flush against his, his amber eyes dancing with mischief. “I look forward to spending however long you will let me, making it up to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to throw in some lovey Cully-wully <3 Dom!Cullen shall return! I've started writing some of the smut...let's just say I need to find God and reevaluate my life choices.


	20. Need

The coming weeks at Skyhold were littered with looks of disgust, hushed whispers, snide comments and the like. Rumors were running rampant: from calling her a whore for trying to get with the Commander and the King, to calling her a baby killer - apparently someone thought she had purposefully induced her miscarriage in order to guilt trip the Commander into getting back with her. Elizabeth paid no mind to them, she knew the truth, and it wasn't long before the rumors died down and everything went back to normal.

“So, you and Curly, huh?”

Elizabeth's attention jolted to the dwarf beside her, flushed and stammering in her reply. “I- I don't, I'm not sure what- what you're talking about.”

“Right,” he stretched the vowel and her cheeks deepened with crimson.

She thought she had been careful, slipping in and out of shadows to get to Cullen’s tower. Stolen kisses and quick brushes of skin in the hallways as they passed one another. But apparently nothing gets past the ever observing eyes of the resident author. “Please don't write this into one of your books, Mister Tethras.”

“What? A charismatic leader’s sister thrown into an arranged marriage to a brooding Commander, then falling into the clutches of an unassuming King, only to be rescued by the dashing Commander and fall in love with him? Throw in a couple of weddings and a baby, and you've got yourself a bestseller.” Well, when he put it like that, it sounded pretty awful. “I think I know which direction I would take this. Cassandra would approve, no doubt,” the dwarf trailed, pondering in thought. Would Cullen's character be a compassionate lover? Or perhaps rough and demanding? He would have to iron out the details later.

She was flushed with embarrassment, looking ahead at her older brother who seemed to pretend like he did not hear anything. Perhaps he'd long tuned out the dwarf, not wishing to hear about his baby sister’s love life. Or maybe he heard every word, but was waiting to chastise her once they were back in Skyhold. 

Her eyes flickered to the fourth member of their party: a chivalrous Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. Her stomach churned as she noticed the pink tint on his cheeks: _Maker, he heard everything._

“So tell me, Stormheart, does Curly stumble and stammer in closed quarters, too?” He seemed all to serious about this for her liking. “Asking for research purposes, of course.”

Elizabeth needed to find the nearest fade rift and throw herself at it. With any luck, she wouldn't survive the encounter. She heard the dwarf chuckle next to her and she turned to look at him. “Only kidding, Stormheart. You're just so easy to tease.”

\---

The _creak_ of wood under the weight of familiar boots resonated, bouncing off the walls and drowning out even the _caws_ of the ravens. Leliana stood back, straight with arms crossed over her chest as she awaited her visitor for what seemed like the tenth time that day.

“Any news from the Inquisitor?” He asked once he was in front of her.

“Cullen, you were here not even an hour ago. And at least another five times before noon. They only set out last night, I'm not sure why you think the Inquisitor would have a report for us so soon.” Cullen ran a nervous hand through his hair, pacing about the room. “Have a little more faith in her, hmm? You did test her yourself, no?”

Of course he did. It had been two months since she joined the Inquisition. Two months of training under Dorian, Vivienne and occasionally Solas. Two months of Cullen sparring with her, testing both her physical and magical strength rigorously, despite his dislike of the latter. He had to make sure she was ready. He had to make sure that she would come back to him, safe and in one piece.

“Yes, but still, we don't know what they will encounter in the Emerald Graves,” he replied. “Wolves, bears, giants, Venatori, fade rifts. _Maker, I've sent her to her grave._ ” The irony of the name was not lost on him.

Leliana rounded the table, abandoning the documents she had been reading from her contacts in favor of comforting her friend. “Cullen, she will be fine. The Inquisitor is with her. As are Blackwall and Varric.”

“But she's the only mage! What if her mana depletes in the middle of a fight and she's unable to regenerate it fast enough? Damn it, I knew I should have suggested that the Inquisitor take one of the more skilled mages with him.”

A gentle hand on his forearm stopped him in his steps as a wave of calmness washed over him. A genuine smile and playful wink from the spymaster. “She will be back, Cullen. She's hard to get rid of.” 

Didn't he know it.

\---

They had come to the Emerald Graves at the behest of a man by the name of Fairbanks. His letter alluded to his willingness to exchange information of value if the Inquisition assisted him in fighting the Freemen of the Dales. Normally the Inquisitor would not bother with such menial tasks, but there were reports of numerous fade rifts in the Graves and as it were, he was the only one able to close them.

It was day five since they had arrived. Fairbanks took them to the rebel’s outpost and they had managed to clear it out easy enough, closing a handful of fade rifts along the way. They found a spot to camp for the night with orders that they would be setting out for Skyhold in the morning.

“Hey.” She looked up from where she was sitting, perched up on a random tree log. Maxwell stood in front of her with two copper cups in hand, extending one to her. “Coffee?”

Elizabeth took the cup with gratitude. She wasn't sure how much she had managed to sleep since they left Skyhold, but it was not much. She wasn't used to the cold, hard ground, the hot, sweaty nights, the constant chirping of insects so loud she could swear they were by her ear. She was drained mentally and physically. “Thank you.” 

“A little gift from Josephine,” he continued. “She orders coffee beans by the bushels from Antiva. The taste is unparalleled.” She took a sip, nodding silently in agreement. There was an awkward pause before Maxwell finally added, “May I sit?”

Elizabeth scooted over, nodding her head again. She heard him sigh as he sat down next to her. “You, uh - I wanted to thank you for that barrier earlier. Those damn Venatori archers are everywhere, I can't believe I let myself get careless. If it weren't for you I'm sure I'd be sitting here bleeding-”

“Maxwell,” her voice was soft, almost inaudible, “it’s alright. You don't have to thank me. And you don't have to praise me, either. We’ve had our differences and it's all in the past now. Don't feel like you need to make it up to me or something by showering me with praises.”

“I know,” he sighed again, shaking his head. She could read him like an open book. “I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. And I wanted to talk to you regarding Cullen.” The mention of his name caused her breath to hitch. Damn, he did hear her conversation with Varric. She turned to look at him, ready to explain herself but stopped when she felt his warm hand take hold of hers. “ _I approve._ Not that you need my approval, but Cullen is a good man. He will take good care of you, just like you deserve. Or else he’ll have to face the mighty Inquisitor.” 

She giggled at his last remark as he made a silly face, flexing his biceps in a mock show of strength. Maxwell was strong, toned and masculine, but he paled in comparison to the Commander. “Thank you,” Elizabeth smiled and Maxwell pulled her into a warm embrace, kissing the top of her head softly. 

\---

Cullen had been busy when they returned, lost in his search for any trail of Samson, that he hadn't heard the commotion. It wasn't until one of Leliana’s scouts came to deliver a report that he realized _she_ was back. He had practically ran out of his study, briskly walking past Solas who was busy with his mural, ignoring Varric as he entered the main hall, and making a beeline for her room. That's where she spent most of her time and he knew that is where he would find her.

He needed to see her with his own eyes.

He knocked at her door but did not wait for a response as he barged in, his eyes frantically looking around for her. He found her sitting at the edge of her bed, struggling to tug off her boot. She looked up at him, dull blue eyes lighting up at the sight of him. 

“Cullen,” she greeted.

_Thank the Maker._

He crossed the distance between them, crouching down and cupping her face between his hands as his lips found hers. It had only been a week, but every minute not being able to feel her supple lips against his own was spent in agony. He pulled back, smiling, “Here, let me help.”

She leaned back, allowing him to remove her boots, their eyes never breaking contact. His innocent touch was igniting a fire deep in her belly and she found herself wondering why he had not made a move in the last two months. Sweet caresses, tender kisses, gentle stokes - but never anything more intimate. 

Cullen had struggled to resist the urge, every vein in his body begging him to slip his hands in her smalls, to give her pleasure, to make her fully his. But he never acted on the urge, fearing that she still garnered feelings of resentment from when he left her. He waited and waited for her to make a move, for her to tell him again to make love to her. But she never did.

“Are you alright?” He asked once her boots were off and pushed to the side. 

She nodded, massaging her shoulder with her hand. “Just sore. And tired. And in need of a proper bath.”

He smiled at her as he stood up, taking it as his cue to leave, “Do you need me to bring you anything?” She shook her head. “Alright, if you need anything just come find me. I'll be in my study.” 

He turned but she took hold of his hand, “Stay.” Cullen turned back to look at her, amber eyes dilating with lust. “Please.”

\--- 

He filled up the large, wooden tub with water while she undressed. His eyes avoided her as she stepped into the tub, her descend into the warm water swift. When he was sure she was submerged, he turned to look at her and found her staring at him, particularly his clothes. “Aren't you getting in?”

_Maker, yes._

“Do you want me to?”

“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.”

He nodded, needing no more convincing as he began to peel off each layer of clothing. He could feel himself hardening under her watchful eyes, but she quickly averted them as he removed his breeches. She was blushing.

Elizabeth moved forward, allowing him enough room to comfortably settle behind her before she leaned back and rested her bare back against his chest, her heart pounding. She could hear him swallow hard, his hands gripping the sides of the tub to keep from touching her. 

“Do you mind?” She gestured to her hand as she held it up, a faint glimmer of red light shining on her fingertips. He shook his head. With a flick of her wrist he felt the warm water grow hotter, almost unbearably so. The heat licked at her sore muscles and she leaned back against him, her head resting on his shoulder, a content, soft moan escaping her lips. She felt his cock twitch against her back, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Maker, the things she did to him without even trying. 

She laid her hands gently on top of his, gauging his reaction. He didn't pull them back, but instead brushed his lips against her cheek, pressing kisses against her soft flesh. She craned her head back, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. Slowly, she led his hands down into the water, moaning when he made contact with her thighs. “Cullen, _please._ ”

His mind was in a fog, lust and need clouding his thoughts. She let go of his hands as they began to move on their own, his left hand traveling up her abdomen to grab at her breast while his right parted her legs, his finger brushing against her heat. He swallowed her moans as his mouth found hers again, their kiss feverish. He circled her pearl, the water making his movements slick and she writhed in his arms, her orgasm coming on faster than he hand anticipated. 

“Already?” he breathed against her ear with a low chuckle. 

“Please,” she begged without regard, “please, Cullen.”

“You want to come?” He was enjoying this more than he should have, his cock hard and his sack heavy with his seed. Maker, he longed to fill her with his come. “Tell me you want to come for me, Elizabeth.”

She jerked against his hand, searching for more friction. “Please, Cullen, I want to come for you!” Her vision blurred, a hot, white light flashing before her eyes as her orgasm ran its course, a tight coil in the pit of her stomach releasing as she moaned his name. She continued to ride out her climax, twisting and bucking her hips against his hand. Her arm reached back, wrapping around his neck and pulling him down. 

"Will you,” she paused, suddenly feeling bashful. Why was she such a nervous wreck around him. “Can you?” She began again, but could not complete her request.

“In here?” Cullen knew what she meant and under any other circumstance he would have teased her. But, Maker, he needed her; waited so long for her to ask him again that even an incomplete sentence would do.

She nodded, averting her eyes.

“Not without a great deal of discomfort,” he replied. The tub was spacious to fit two people comfortably, but not spacious enough to allow for much movement. Her face fell, her cheeks tinted in the most innocent hue. He captured her earlobe between his teeth, grazing gently against the skin as he whispered, “On the bed. _Now._ ”


	21. First

She was tempting him, every curve of her porcelain skin calling out for his touch, his kiss. The room was dark, save for the few candles in the corners of her room, basking her naked body in a warm glow. She shivered under his gaze, silently watching him as his eyes hungrily roamed her body. Her own eyes dared to steal a glance down, a soft gasp escaping her lips at the sight of _him_. His cock stood erect, hard and thick and long. 

Cullen chuckled, and knowing that he caught her looking made her blush deeper. She pushed herself up on her elbows, one hand extended, beckoning him to join her on the bed. “Don't tease,” she pleaded, her voice full of need.

He paced his breathing, deep and calm breaths to keep from tearing her apart like the animal that he was. No, he needed to be gentle with her. It was her first time, after all. He placed one knee on the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The other knee soon followed as he crawled on top of her, a hand placed on either side of her head. 

Elizabeth let her head fall back against the cotton sheets, her blue eyes never breaking contact with those honeyed orbs. She bit her bottom lip as both hands flew up against his chest, tracing every muscle with nimble fingers. He let out a shuddered breath at the coolness of her touch against his scorching body. 

“Cullen, you're burning up.” Worry had tainted her lust filled eyes.

Telling her it was only one of the side effects of lyrium withdrawal would ruin the moment he had waited so long for. Instead he brushed it off as his lips found the expanse of her neck, nibbling on her skin. Soon her worries were forgotten as her moans filled the room. 

His hand reached down between them, his fingers parting her folds and pressing against her swollen sex once again. He swallowed her moans with heated kisses as his calloused finger rubbed against her pearl. 

“Cullen,” she managed to choke out, her mind clouded by the need to unravel for him again. She wanted to return the favor before taking her pleasure from him again and she reached down to stroke him, but he pushed her hand away.

“There will be time enough for that later.” He began a slow descent, kissing along her body. “Right now, I want to taste you as you come for me.”

The words made her blush, heat rising to her cheeks. It wasn't her first time having a man talk to her like that, nor was it the first time that she would have a man feast on her delectable juices. Alistair made sure of that. She had even become eager for it, any trace of shyness long forgotten. So why was she bashful now, with Cullen?

She wanted to stop him, but it was already too late. His head was between her thighs, her legs thrown over his broad, muscular shoulders. She could feel his breath against her heat, goosebumps peppering her skin at the thought of how good he might be with his tongue.

She wouldn't have to wonder long. His mouth was on her in an instant, unable to hold himself back any longer. His tongue delved between her folds, licking and sucking at her clit with expert strokes.  


Her hands found purchase in his golden locks, tugging and pulling as she cried his name again and again. All thoughts were abandoned, her mind a fog of darkness as she focused on how _good_ his wet tongue felt. He took her clit in his mouth, sucking gently as he inserted a digit inside of her. 

Maker, she was _tight_. The thought of sheathing his cock inside her tight, wet cunt only spurred him on and he began to lick at her in earnest. He added another finger, stretching her and preparing her to take him.

Elizabeth threw her head against the sheets, her back arching as she pushed against his face. Her vision was a brilliant, white light as a feeling of euphoria washed over her. She called out his name - _clutching, grabbing, grasping_ \- at anything and everything as he continued to lick her sensitive, swollen bud of pleasure.

He would never tire of the sight. Having her buckle and whimper beneath him as he brought her pleasure. He would do it again and again, not stopping until she was literally unable to walk on shaky, lithe legs. 

“Cullen, please, _please_ ” she begged, her horse voice breaking him from his trance. He looked up, his tongue pressed against her clit as their eyes met. A dark, carnal need seeped from her beautiful azure eyes. “I need you, Cullen. I need to feel you.”

He pulled away, climbing back up her body the same way he descended; planting sweet kisses on her bare flesh. He captured her mouth again, their tongues dancing in a battle for dominance. She could taste herself on him.

Cullen easily overpowered her as he pulled her legs up, his hard, throbbing cock sliding between her folds. He positioned himself at her entrance and in one swift, agonizing move buried himself to the hilt. She broke the kiss, crying out in pleasure and pain. His head fell between her shoulder and her neck, his breath coming out hard and labored as he remained still inside her, letting her adjust to his massive girth. 

_”Fuck,”_ he groaned against her ear, wishing he had stretched her out more. The way her walls convulsed around his cock would have him coming sooner than he would like. He felt her nails on his back, digging into his flesh, and it only further ignited the fire in his belly. “Maker, Elizabeth, _you're so fucking tight._ ”

She pulled her head up, sinking her teeth into his shoulder as he began to slowly move in and out. The feeling was indescribable. A delicious mix of pain and pleasure; the pain of being stretched further than she'd ever been and the pleasure of being filled to the rim. 

Cullen turned his head and kissed her cheek as his thrusts picked up speed, controlled and paced so that he would not lose himself and finish before he had the chance to thoroughly fuck her.

“Look at me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, soothing and calm. She did as asked, biting down on her bottom lip as their eyes connected. Each thrust of his hips brought her closer to the edge. “I want to hear you. I want all of Skyhold to hear you.”

“Cullen, I -” he snapped his hips against her, his sack slapping against her backside as he buried himself deeper, causing her to cry out. 

“I said I want to hear you, Elizabeth.” His voice was dark, demanding. He pulled out only to repeat the motion, each time eliciting loud moans and profanities from her mouth. “Good girl.”

He could feel her walls tightening around his cock. His thrusts became frenzied as his own climax began to surge through his body. “Elizabeth, I'm going - where do I?” his question was cut short as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper in.

“Inside of me,” she begged wantonly, “I want to feel you spill every last drop.”

Maker, he wanted to pull out. Knew he needed to pull out. But it was already too late. Her words spurred him on, his body shuddering as he came. Her tight cunt milked him for every last bit he had as he collapsed on top of her, his forearms bearing most of his weight. 

He felt her soft lips on his collarbone, kissing him softly as her fingertips traced along his back. Slowly, gently, he pulled out her, his cock still hardened. “Maker’s breath, are you trying to start up the rumors again?” 

She giggled as he moved to lay next to her, pulling her into his arms and cradling her against his chest. “It wouldn't be a rumor if it was actually true.”

Cullen looked down at her, his face suddenly somber. “Elizabeth..”

“Relax,” she sighed contently as she rested her head against is chest, “Viv gave me a potion. Nothing will happen.”

He raised an eyebrow, “How would Vivienne know that you needed such a potion?”

“That's between us girls, Commander.”

\---

“You're awfully cheery today. Did something happen?” 

It would be her luck that the night after she sleeps with Cullen, the ever talkative Tevinter mage would be her trainer. Why couldn't she get shy and quiet Solas? He wouldn't be nosy, even if he knew exactly what happened. 

“Oh, no, nothing of note.” Elizabeth replied nonchalantly as she assumed her position, staff in hand.

“You mean you couldn't hear it?” A deep voice entered the conversation and Elizabeth instantly wished the ground would swallow her up whole. “Woke practically half of Skyhold up with all that screaming.”

“Bull, what are you on about?” Dorian placed his hands on his hips, agitated at his lover’s cryptic message.

“I could tell you, kadan,” the Iron Bull purred, “but I think you might like it better if I showed you.”

_Maker, take me now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyone ever do that in the heat of the moment? All erotic and shit and you tell your man to just bust inside of you and then stress about the possible consequences? Yeah, that's how baby happened >.>
> 
> Jk! She was planned xD but I have done that before.
> 
> Just me, huh? 
> 
> Alrighty then. 
> 
> This isn't even the smut that has me second guessing my life lmao y'all pray for me. Haven't written full on smut in so long this feels like blah. But I've started on next chapter’s smut and it's flowing a lot better so it might just be that I can only write raunchy smut ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
>  
> 
> Also, YouTube “dragon age everybody” and watch that video by Sarah cousland if you haven't already. You'll thank me :D


	22. Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Ware the tags.  
> >.<
> 
> In all fairness I did foreshadow this in the first chapter by mentioning their sinful age gap. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Under the cover of the night, Elizabeth snuck out of her room, blending into the shadows as she approached the Commander’s tower, much like she had almost every night for the last two weeks.

They were unable to get enough of each other so much so that she was almost out of the elixir Vivienne had given her. She was ashamed to ask for more, since the famed Enchanter mentioned that the vial should last her a good couple of months. Apparently she had not factored in that they would be fucking like rabbits.

She knocked on his door, four times as they had agreed, before slipping in. He was at his desk, skimming through documents when he looked up. Cullen’s lips curved into a smile at the sight of her, “You're early.”

Elizabeth shrugged as she approached his desk, “Eager to be in your arms, I guess. But if you'd rather I leave…”

“Perish the thought,” he stood up, rounding his desk and standing before her, his hand stroking the smooth skin of her cheek. “All day I've only been able to think about this.”

He sat her up on his desk, his lips quickly finding hers as his hands began unbuttoning her blouse. Elizabeth wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

The thoughts running rampant in her mind were distracting her and it wasn't long before she pulled back, suddenly shy under his confused gaze. 

“Cullen, do you - do you think we could try something different?” He raised a questioning eyebrow, but did not speak as she continued stammering. “When I was younger, well it actually wasn't that long ago - shortly after my sixteenth birthday, I was sent to Orlais to spend some time in court, be cultured in Orlesian politics and all. And while I was there some of the older girls, and some of the women, used to talk about, uh, being...manhandled by the men in Court and how they loved being dominated and how good it felt and-” Maker, take her now before she died of shame. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard in worry. 

“You want me to dominate you?” He repeated the words slowly and she wanted to die of humiliation. 

“I'd like to try but - but I understand if that's not your thing. Just forget I asked.” Would it be more awkward if she just ran out of his study?

Cullen chuckled, tracing her jaw with his thumb as he cupped her cheek. “You don't know how long I've wanted to fuck you so hard and rough and thoroughly that simply walking would be a great labor.” She swallowed hard at his words, her eyes locking with his burning gaze. “Know that, if at any point you are uncomfortable, you must tell me to stop, is that understood?” The authority in his voice was making her drip with need. Maker there was something wrong with her. She nodded, a lustful glint in her eyes as she licked her lips.

“Good,” he purred as his lips found her neck. He placed slow, sensual kisses along her collar, his hands finding purchase in her long, raven hair. She moaned his name at such a simple touch. “So eager to have my cock pound that sweet, little cunt?”

Her eyes practically rolled to the back of her head as she lost herself in that intoxicatingly smooth voice. _”Yes, daddy.”_

“What did you just call me?” Cullen pulled back, eyes dark and jaw tight. Maker, put her out of this misery. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Their age difference was sinful and turned her on more than she would admit. She stumbled in her answer.

“I - the girls - they used to talk about calling their lovers Master and Daddy and - I don't know what came over me - I'm sorry!” 

His lips curved into a smirk, _”Oh, my sweet, sweet girl,”_ he stroked her cheek lovingly and Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to die of sheer embarrassment. But it was quickly forgotten as Cullen grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her off his desk and against his body. “Get on your knees and suck daddy's cock.”

Oh. _Oh._

He placed his other hand on her shoulder, forcibly shoving her down on her knees as his other remained tangled in her hair. She looked up at him with those alluring blue eyes. “Don't make me repeat myself, Elizabeth.”

She made quick work of his belt, fueled as she was by desire. His head rolled back as her hand brushed across his throbbing manhood, groaning as she worked to free his cock. 

“Suck,” he ordered once his cock was free and she eagerly obliged, taking his cock in her mouth as deep as she could. “Show daddy how much you like his cock in your mouth.” She took him deeper still, as far as she could. He moaned, but she had another two inches to swallow. “All of it, Elizabeth. I want to feel my cock hit the back of your throat.”

She tried again, spurred on by his words. Her head bobbed back and forth, each time taking him a little deeper but not deep enough. He yanked on her hair, pulling her off his cock with a slick _pop_. He shoved her back, her head colliding with his desk as she fell flat on her ass. He grabbed her hair again, forcing her to look up at him.

“Guess I'll have to teach you how to take my cock,” he hissed. His cock was in her mouth again, in and out in short, fast thrusts. “Open your mouth, Elizabeth. _Wider._ ”

She did as she was told and Cullen wasted no time in fucking her mouth, deeper and deeper, driving her head into the desk with each thrust before stilling. He used the desk as leverage, preventing her from pulling away as he shoved his entire length down her throat, causing her to gag. He pulled back, only to repeat the act again and again, each time longer than that last. When he was satisfied he pulled back completely, his hand letting go of her hair in favor of stroking her chin. He tilted her face up to look at him, her eyes blood red, her mascara smeared and saliva dripping from her mouth.

“Did you like that, princess?” He cooed as his thumb brushed across her reddened lips.

She nodded, still hazy with lust. “Yes.”

A burning sting across her cheek … “Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy,” she corrected, the pain and pleasure making her delirious. His cock was inches from her face, tempting her to take him again.

“Good girl. Stand up.” She scrambled to her feet as he circled her, taking his position behind his desk. _”Strip._ ”

She watched as he took a seat, leaning back in his chair as his eyes, full of animalistic hunger, roamed her body. Slowly she began to remove her clothing, taking her time to make every move sensual, irresistible. 

“You're not trying to tease me, are you, princess?” His tone was dark as his eyes watched the way she wiggled out of her tights, making sure that her ass swayed and jiggled provocatively.

She stood up straight once she was completely bare. “No, daddy.”

“I think you're lying to me. Come here,” he beckoned, tapping his hand against the top of his desk. She followed his instructions, sandwiched between his desk and him. “Turn around and bend over. Ass up.” Again she followed orders without question, the anticipation dripping down her thigh. “Do you know what happens when you lie to me, Elizabeth?” 

She shook her head, “No.” Another slap across her derriere. “No, _daddy.”_

His hands kneaded her ass cheeks, his lust growing deeper at the thought of fucking her tight hole. But he would save that for another time. “Spread them,” he ordered and her hands quickly took hold of either cheek, spreading the flesh to expose her perfect puckered hole and pussy to him. Her chest was flush against his desk as she waited for his next move.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, “so fucking beautiful.” And it was all his, his cock would be the first to fill all her holes. He leaned forward in his chair, placing a hand on either one of her tights, holding her in place as his face delved between her cheeks. 

She cried out, a loud moan of his name, though it was lost on him as he licked her, his tongue darting in and out of her small hole. “Yes, _oh daddy_ , just like that.” She bucked underneath him.

He held her there, torturing her with his tongue while she teetered on the verge of orgasm, always close but never allowed to achieve it. Whenever he felt she was about to come, he would switch up the strokes of his tongue, throwing her off without release.

“Cullen, please!” A hard slap against her ass had her whining, her legs shaking from the sheer force of her oncoming orgasm. “Please let me come, daddy,” she begged.

He pulled back completely and she whimpered at the loss. “Liars get punished, Elizabeth. This is your punishment. You're free to go.”

“Wait, what?!” She whipped around to find him leaning back in his chair with an amused look. “You're not serious?”

“I am,” he stated simply, that audacious smirk never wavering. 

“I - but,” she couldn't form a coherent sentence, dumbfounded as she was. She watched as he tucked his hard cock back in his pants. This must have been just as torturous for him as it was for her.

“If you don't mind, sweetheart, there are some reports that require my attention and I best get to them.” He brushed her thigh with the back of his hand as if to tell her _move along._

Suddenly aware that she was completely nude, Elizabeth quickly tried to cover herself with her bare hands, much to Cullen’s amusement. “Nothing I haven't already seen, sweetheart.”

“Fine!” She huffed, turning and picking up her clothes from the floor. “Maybe I'll go run back to Alistair. At least he can finish what he starts.”

Another chuckle, he wasn't biting. “Then a more suitable punishment will be given.”

Unable to take any more embarrassment for the night, Elizabeth turned in defeat and stormed out of his study, his voice echoing as he said _,”Next time don't lie to me, Elizabeth.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought the bickering was over - HA! Nope. They're petty af. 
> 
> Could you imagine Cullen meeting Elizabeth's father and being like, “Your daughter calls me daddy, too ;)” How original am I xD
> 
> Okay, now I go crawl under a rock and wallow in my depravity. Goodbye world!


End file.
